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THE 
ASTOUNDING 
CRIME 

ON. 
TORRINGTON 
ROAD 


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THE 
ASTOUNDING» 
CRIME “e ue 
ON - 
ROAD 


BEING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT MIGHT BE 
TERMED “THE PENTECOST EPISODE” IN 
A MOST AUDACIOUS CRIMINAL CAREER 


HARPER & BROTHERS” “pt BEISH » 
New York and London, Mcmxxvii 


THE ASTOUNDING CRIME ON TORRINGTON ROAD 
COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY WILLIAM GILLETTE | 
PRINTED IN THE U. & A. 


THIS RECITAL 


—AS TAKEN DOWN AND THEN SET 
FORTH HEREIN—IS DIVIDED INTO 
SEVEN PARTS OR SECTIONS WHICH 
MAY BE ROUGHLY DESCRIBED AS 
FOLLOWS: 


PART I: Leading up to the arrangement that 
Andrew Howard Barnes finally succeeded in 
making with Horace McClintock for the 
Reporting of the Facts in This Most Unusual 
Series of Events. Page 1 


PART II: Introducing Hugo Pentecost and his 
Partner Stephen W. Harker, with a side 
light thrown on the Business Methods em- 
ployed by this firm. Alsojdefining the Steps 
which led Mr. Pentecost to call at the House 
on Torrington Road. Page 20 


PART III: Dealing with old Michael Cripps and 
his Synthetic Family—thus making it clear 
how Charles Haworth came to be the Sole 
Occupant of the old Cripps Mansion. Page 44 


PART IV: Attempting to convey Some Idea of 
the Overwhelming Passion that swept upon 
Charles Haworth and Edith Findlay when 
the Findlays came to live at the House on 
Torrington Road. Page 67 


PART V: Wherein is set forth the Painful Pre- 
dicament which soon involved the Young 
Couple, and the Vast Relief which ensued 


upon the Sale of the Haworth Machine to 
Harker and Pentecost. Page 112 


PART VI: Touching on the Amazing Prepara- 
tions for and the Hideous Details of the 
Crime that took place in the Cripps Man- 
sion and Describing the Activities of the 
Police in connection therewith as well as the 
Behavior of Others Concerned in this Appall- 
ing Affair. Page 169 — 


PART VII: Giving an account of the Attempts 
of Certain Persons no longer enjoying an 
Earthly Existence to take part in the Investi- 
gation of the Crime and the Final Result of 
this Most Amazing Interference. Page 259 


THE 
ASTOUNDING 
CRIME 

ON 
TORRINGTON 
ROAD 


PART I 
At the request of Mr. Andrew H. 


Barnes I make the following siatement in 
order to explain how tt came about that I 
entered into the arrangement for taking 
down from his dictation an Account of 
a Certain Extraordinary Affair. 


Horace McCiintock 


M* name is signed above. I am a staff reporter on one 
of the town papers. New York, I mean. Several 
times in the past three or four years when some special work 
in my line—which has come to be mostly interviewing—was 
required there, they have sent me over to Boston. 

This last time I went over—which is now, for I am there 
yet—I was particularly glad to get the assignment, as my 
friend Dudley Knapp had recently made a shift from a big 
Life Insurance Company in the West to a very much bigger 
one in Boston, and it was a great pleasure to see him. 

Duds (his schoolboy name still sticks with me and I forgot 
to state that we were boys together in a small town in 
northern Ohio) has got to be quite a “high up” in the 
Insurance line. I don’t know exactly what they call him, but 
he’s an expert of some kind, and is a sharp one on any 
fraud or tangle that has to be attended to. I don’t mean to 
say he’s a detective or anything like that, but in nine cases 


I 


2 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


out of ten he saves them from having to get one. He has 
the gift of knowing a man pretty well when he gets a good 
look at him—with a little conversation thrown in—and 
they put him on cases that have the look of being a bit off 
color. There’s plenty of that kind in the Life business. 
That’s how he happened to be in Boston, and we got ahold. 
of each other almost the minute I arrived there. 

Wed been having dinner together in the men’s café at a 
specially good hotel—one of the few cafés left where they 
hadn’t let women and dancing in and changed the name to 
the Wild Rose Room or something like that, and where— 
as Dudley put it—you could still get a feed without having 
girls’ legs flashed in your face with every mouthful. 

It was down to coffee and cigars—that is, cigars for Duds 
and cigarettes for me—and we were lolling back talking over 
our experiences, when I happened to think of an odd thing 
that occurred on my last trip over—which was before Duds 
had made the shift to the Boston Company; and I started in 
to give him an idea of it by asking if he knew anything 
about a suburb called Roxbury. 

“No,” he said, “but for God’s sake’ (lowering his voice) 
“don’t let anyone hear you call it a suburb—you’d be 
mobbed.” 

“Well it looked like that to me,” I returned. “I struck 
a place where I thought I was out on a farm.” 

“When was this?” he asked. 

“About a year ago.” 

“What were you doing?” 

“Following a man.” 

“Who was it?” 

“Never found out.” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 2 


Dudley looked at me a couple of seconds; then settling 
back in his chair struck a match and began to light a cigar. 

“Anything—er—out of the way?’ he mumbled between 
puffs. 

“No,” I told him, “just odd, that’s all. Peculiar way a 
couple of people acted on the train coming over got me guess- 
ing to that degree that when we arrived here about eleven 
o'clock at night I trailed the man through the south station 
till he got into a taxi, and then jumped into one myself and 
followed him out into that Roxbury region looking for the 
answer—which I never got.” 

“Slipped you, did he?” 

“Amounted to that. Went into an old house out there— 
gloomy-looking place—long way back from the road—no 
other houses near. I had him down for some sort of a 
yegg, and when I saw him go into that murky old mansion 
I called it a day and quit.” 

“What made you think he was crooked ?” 

“One or two things I overheard on the train—and then 
he played a few queer games when I was trailing him in the 
taxi.” 

“Get the address?” 

“There wasn’t any number at the gate, but I got the name 
of the street on a lamp post. Not sure what it was, though. 
Something like Torreytown—or Torringtown—or one of 
those ——” I broke off suddenly. 

Duds gave me a quick look. 

“Table behind you!” I muttered. 

“What’s the matter with it?” he grunted, his voice down 
with mine. 

“Man got a shock when I mentioned that street.” 


4 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Maybe he lives on it.” 

I shook my head slightly. 

“Well, go on—what do you care?’ 

I was just going to speak when Duds stopped me. 

“Wait a minute!” he said, his voice down several pegs 
more. ‘That street you mentioned—I’ve read about it some- 
where—in some paper.” 

“About the street?” 

“Yes—or—or something that happened on it. Remember 
there was a lot of excitement—everybody guessing. What 
did we get from Boston along then?” 

“One of their murders most likely—if it was something 
you read about outside.” 

“Hold on—I’m getting it! It was that case the police 
tried to hush up—lot of queer stuff to it—everybody wonder- 
ing what in God’s name it was all about. Inventor in it 
somewhere—don’t you remember that? It was first-page 
stuff all over the country.” 

“No—they had me down in Panama after that Boston 
trip, covering a Senate Investigating Committee. Saw some 
headings but didn’t know what it was all about.” 

“Peculiar case all right. What was it you overheard on 
the train?” 

“Began at the Grand Central. I was running for the five- 
eleven Boston express—P.M. I needn’t say. Just as I got to 
the gate an excited old woman—poorly dressed—queer hat 
on sideways—dangling gray hair and all that—came hurrying 
across from somewhere and plunged in ahead of me trying to 
pass the gateman. He held her up for a ticket of course, 
and there was quite a time, she calling out that her son was 
on the train—she’d got to speak to him—he had no business 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 5 


to be there, and a flood of talk like that. It made a kind of 
a riot—for the gateman put her down as crazy and didn’t like 
to pass her in among the rolling stock; and in a minute there © 
was a crowd of people about, and a station policeman coming 
over on the run, and the assistant station master arriving a 
second or two later: with the result that the two of them— 
the station master and the policeman—took her through 
and down the incline to the train, to see if she really had a 
son on board. 

“She was a queer old thing, this dame, and kept mumbling 
to herself that she wasn’t going to let him (her son, I took 
it) go to that place—not if she could help it. The officer 
tried two or three times to fix her hat on straight as they 
walked along, one on each side of her—but it wouldn’t stay. 

“Most of the passengers who came along while the old 
woman was blocking the left-hand passage of the gate— 
where I was—were passed in on the other side; there’s two 
ticket punchers, you know. But I hung back till they took 
her through, and then followed them down to the train and 
through the cars. Wanted to see if there was anything to 
it. Might be a story if I followed it up. 

“After they'd gone through nearly the whole train, in- 
cluding the Pullmans, she spotted the chap she was after in 
the first coach forward, next behind the smoker, and com- 
menced to call out to him to get off and come home with her. 
He was a decent-appearing young chap, but what struck me 
as peculiar was that his face didn’t show the least surprise 
or anger or even annoyance when he saw his mother—in 
fact, it didn’t show anything at all. He shook his head a 
little when the old woman told him to get off, but he wouldn’t 
budge, and finally when the station master told her she’d 


6 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


have to leave the coach or go along with it, she plumped 
down in the seat with him and a few seconds later the train 
was under way. 

“The nearest seat I could get was in with another man next 
behind. I’d have preferred to be in front—you know how. 
well you can hear people sitting behind you in a car—but 
the whole seat was occupied. So I sat down there behind 
them in the aisle seat (the other man was next the window) 
and getting out a newspaper, leaned forward as far as I 
could as though trying to get a good light on it, and keeping 
an ear turned in the right direction to catch anything they 
might say. - 

“We must have passed Stamford before a word was 
spoken by either of them, but along near that place the old 
woman opened up suddenly and began remonstrating—l 
judged by the tone (her voice was too low to catch any 
words) with tremendous earnestness. She hadn’t been talk- 
ing long though, when something he muttered got her excited 
and she raised her voice enough for me to hear, “Well you’re 
goin’ to get off this train the next place they stop at an’ come 
home—yes ye be Jamie—I won’t have you goin’ on with this 
—I won’t have it!’ 

“‘Tisten here!’ Jamie said under his breath but with an 
earnestness that carried it over the back of the seat to me: ‘I 
got an A-I situation as butler an’ general house man!’ 

***An’ don’t I know how you came by it? It’s them same 
people in that agency! Look at the trouble they’ve got 
you into, Jamie! Wasn’t you arrested twice an’ wasn’t it 
them who ; 

“Aw, can that! Didn’t they push me into some o’ the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 4, 


finest houses there was—an’ didn’t I get recommendations 
that takes me anywheres ?” 

“ ‘First off they did but sense then there’s nothin’ but 
trouble—an’ you comin’ nigh to bein’ put in Sing Sing!’ 

“Well I wasn’t, was I? 

“*__An’ one dreadful mess after another—an’ put with 
people you’d ought ter know better’n to be with! Don’t ye 
s’pose I know ’em, with your father what he was! I tell 
you I ain’t goin’ to have it!’ (Her voice rising into a loud 
wail.) ‘You got to stop, Jamie. You got to git off this tram 
an’ come back home with me! You , 

“Quiet down, can’t ye—people might get it!’ 

“There was silence between the two for a while, and I no- 
ticed, as the train was running into the Bridgeport station— 
the first stop after One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street— 


_ that Jamie was watching for something out of the window, 


his quick glance shifting up and down the west-bound tracks. 

“The old woman got to her feet as the train came to a stop, 
and told him he must come with her and get the next train 
back. But he pulled her down into the seat again—not 
roughly but rather protectingly in a way—saying as he did, 
‘Not here, Jenny! We can get a better train out of New 
Haven.’ 

“*You'll come then?’ the old woman asked. 

“ <Sure,’ said Jamie. 

“She seemed greatly relieved. 

“He had a time-table, and studied it for quite a while, 
and as we neared New Haven (the next stop) he kept the 
same keen watch on the west-bound tracks as he’d done at 
Bridgeport. But this time he saw what he wanted, for 
there was a New York Express three or four tracks over, 


THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


ie) 


roaring and sizzling to get away. It was No. 21 from 
Boston, and as luck would have it, running nine minutes late. 
He had his mother up and at the door before our train had 
come to a standstill, and they were off the car in a jiffy 
and disappearing down the stairway—for he had to cross — 
to the New York tracks in a subway. It was an even bet 
whether he made it or not, and I got off the train—keeping 
close to it, though, in case it started—and ran along the plat- 
form trying to find a place where I could see across into the 
windows of the other train—there were roofs or something 
that cut off the view here and there. Just as I came about 
opposite to the last coach of the New York Express I got 
a view through, and saw them in that car, walking down the 
aisle looking for a seat,—so I knew they’d made it. Jamie 
was carrying his heavy valise—the old woman close herding 
on him as the cattle men say. 

“It was only a few seconds after they got aboard when 
No. 21, after hissing contemptuously a few times as the 
brakes went on and off, got under way for New York. 
~ “Vhe train I was on—the Boston train—left the station 
about five minutes later, and I was sitting down, nursing my 
balked curiosity and the story that didn’t pan, when it dawned 
on me that I had a seat reserved in one of the Pullmans, 
which, in the case of this train, were trailing at the rear with 
the dining car. So I got my bag and started back to find it. 

“I had to go through several coaches before reaching the 
parlor cars, and as I was walking down the aisle of the last 
one I suddenly caught sight of Jamie sitting quietly in a 
seat on my left—Sat there as if he’d never been off the 
train.” 

“Take it that’s the man you followed?” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 9 


“The very one. Kept an eye on him through the station 
when we got in—South Station, not Back Bay—and when he 
took a taxi and drove off I skipped into another and slipped 
the driver a ten to keep his machine in sight but not get up 
too close. When Jamie’s taxi had led us six or eight blocks 
out Columbus or Huntington or one of those avenues, it 
made a sudden turn and shot around a corner to the right. 
Then there were more corners right and left until you 
couldn’t even tell where the State House was, but my man 
was on the job and kept behind like a shadow with a string 
to it. 

“All of a sudden he ran up to the curb and jumped off, 
coming to the door. ‘If it’s the fare ye want out o’ that car, 
he’s payin’ off and goin’ into the station.” “What station?’ 
I asked. ‘North,’ says he, ‘down there where all them lights 
is. He’s on to us, an’ he'll wait long enough to make ye 
think he’s took a train, an’ then git a taxi in there where 
they go in—out o’ sight. I got ye where ye can keep a squint 
on ’em as they come out. He’s liable to stoop down or cover 
up his face. Ye might know him by that.’ 

“And sure enough that’s just what happened. In, say, 
half an hour (he waited inside that long) we were after 
him again, but this time keeping so far away that he must 
have thought he’d thrown us off, for we got out into a sort 
of country region—houses far back into grounds and that 
sort of thing—most of ’em dark, too—people gone to bed. 

“At a corner out there, where Jamie’s taxi had made a 
turn to the right, my driver stopped before rounding it and 
listened, as he’d been doing since we’d got to where it was 
quiet. Rather suddenly he jumped off and hurried on to the 
corner, and after one look came running back and told me 


10 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


the other machine had pulled up near a street lamp some 
distance down the road and the fare was paying off. I 
got out and told him to wait for me—that I’d walk down a 
bit and look around. 

“T edged along at the side of the road and could see that 
Jamie had gone in at a gate or entrance; and very soon the 
taxi that brought him went plunging by on its way back to 
town. After some careful work to keep in the shadow, I 
came to the old gate, or rather old posts—there wasn’t any 
gate—and looking up the weedy and overgrown drive (I 
could see it for a little way by the light of the street lamp) 
I made out the black bulk of what must have been a large 
house back in among trees, and gloomy as a prison. ‘There 
was a pale yellowish light in one window—that was all. 

“While I was trying to make out something in the dense 
gloom, a door of the house opened, the dim light showing 
through it from inside, and the form of a man—which must 
have been Jamie—could be seen passing in, the door closing 
quickly after him. That’s all there was to it. I told you 
the rest. Got the name of the street when I went back to 
the corner.” 

“Taxi there all right?” 

“Yes—but I didn’t see it at first. Chauffeur had backed 
up into some private grounds so the other driver, rattling by 
toward the city, wouldn’t see him. 

““*T don’t know what your man that you’re trailin’ amounts 
to,’ he said as I got in, ‘but that ain’t no amateur what run 
him out here!’ ”’ 

“Strikes me you picked a pretty good one yourself,” ob- 
served Dudley. 

“I sure did,” I agreed; “and his parting words put the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 11 


flag on it. When I'd paid him off at the hotel he stood look- 
ing at me with a queer twist to his face and then gave a quick 
glance about. ‘Say, cap,’ he said, moving quite close, ‘I don’t 
know as it’s any use to ye, but we was shadowed too.’ And 
he was gone before I could ——” 

I stopped in the midst of what I was saying. The man 
who'd been sitting behind Duds—the one who’d started 
slightly when I mentioned the name Torringtown—was 
standing beside our table. I hadn’t noticed him come up. 

“Pardon this intrusion, gentlemen,” the stranger said in 

a low voice and with a most courteous inflection, “‘but it was 
impossible to avoid overhearing what you were saying. I 
should hardly have thought it wise to trouble you with an 
apology for this, but it occurred to me that the very remark- 
able coincidence involved might possibly be of some slight 
interest.” 
_ We'd both risen as he began to speak, and now assured 
him that the apology was unnecessary and that the coinci- 
dence would interest us in the extreme, and begged him to 
be seated. But he shook his head in a manner to convey 
that what he had to say would only take a moment. 

On the first glance the man wasn’t remarkable in any way 
that I could see: medium height—medium weight—medium 
age—no particular expression to his face. But in an instant 
it was different, for he’d hardly begun to speak before I felt 
—and so did Dudley as he told me afterward—that a person 
of powerful or compelling character stood before us. Pow- 
erful in some peculiar way. I never took much stock in 
hypnotism and don’t now; at the same time I can see how 
things like that, carried a bit further, might put a man where 
he couldn’t see straight. These things occurred to me after- 


12 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


ward—I couldn’t have got away, at the time, from what 
the fellow was talking about. 

He went on at once, after declining our invitation to sit 
down: “A few moments ago I heard, from the direction of 
your table, the name of a street which is intimately associated 
with an affair I’ve been investigating for nearly two years.” 

Something made me murmur, without the slightest inten- 
tion of doing so, “Torringtown Road.” 

“That was it—not quite the correct name, but so near that 
I shuddered with the fear that other parties were looking 
up the same case—which would, of course, head my work for 
the discard. With that fear in mind I was unable to prevent 
myself from listening. I am sorry.” 

We both begged him not to speak of such a thing as no 
offense could possibly be taken, and I asked him to tell me 
the right name of the street. 

“Torrington Road,” he answered. “Of course I saw in a 
moment—or rather heard—that although the case was the 
same that I’d been working on, you gentlemen were making 
no special drive at it. But in addition to thus dispelling my 
anxiety, the few words I overheard supplied me with the 
answer to the only question that has completely baffled me 
up to the present time. For two years I’ve been making 
fruitless efforts to find out who shadowed Jamie Dreek from 
the South Station in Boston to the old mansion in Roxbury 
on that August night, and what object he could have had in 
view, seeing that nothing ever came of it; and this evening 
I happen to drop in for dinner at a place I’ve never patron- 
ized before, and the answer comes across to me from the 
next table!” 


, We agreed that it was a strange coincidence, all right, and 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 13 


as he seemed to be on the point of withdrawing I asked him 
—more to detain him than anything else, for it seemed that 
he must be charged up to the muzzle with interesting stuff— 
if he happened to know how it was the Dreek chap was sit- 
ting in a coach on the Boston train after I’d seen him go out 
of New Haven on the New York express. 

“Very simple,” Barnes answered. “He sat with his mother 
as the New York train went down through the yards, and 
after it got headway enough for the old woman to feel easy 
about him, he shoved a wad of bills into her lap, saying, ‘Hold 
that for me, will ye—I want to go to the smoker,’ walked 
back to the rear platform, and a second later let himself 
down by the knuckle of the coupler, which projected a few 
inches, and dropped off. His mother saw his valise in the 
rack and didn’t worry. It was somewhere along under the 
Cedar Street bridge and they don’t get into any speed by then, 
so he was up in a second or two and sprinting back for the 
Boston train—the one you were on” (looking at me). 
“Nothing much at stake you see, as he could have got No. 
30 four hours later if he’d missed it. But he didn’t. You 
must have noted the fact that you can always make a train 
if there’s no special need of it.” 

He was getting out a pocketbook as he talked, and laying 
a card on the table, murmured something about his name 
being Barnes and that he was taking the liberty of introduc- 
ing himself ; whereupon we very informally introduced each 
other. And the man, who appeared to be in a hurry, was 
just turning away as Dudley mentioned the fact (having 


given my name) that I was a staff reporter on a New York 
Daily. 


14 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Upon this Mr. Barnes rather abruptly turned back and 
stood looking at me. 

“May I accept your recent invitation to sit down?’ he 
asked, after a moment. 

We begged him to do so, and all three seated ourselves. 

“T was concerned in this West Roxbury affair,” he said in 
a lowered voice, “in a way that gave me an insight into some 
of its unusual features.” 

“Detective?” asked Dudley, also sinking his voice. 

“Not at all,” Mr. Barnes replied. “To be perfectly frank 
with you—as it’s only right I should be in view of the favor 
I’m going to ask—lI was associated in a confidential way with 
the defense. Hard put to it for evidence they were, and I 
was able to turn up some for them. But the case was so 
extraordinary that after it was all over I began looking into 
various points that came up, and one thing led to another 
until I found I was in deep and moreover so interested that 
I couldn’t quit. Besides that, it began to look to me like 
a gold mine if it was handled right. Although the papers 
were full of it at the time, not only here in Boston but 
throughout the States and Canada, the real facts at the bot- 
tom of it never came to light—a case of ‘diplomatic suppres- 
sion’ by the police, if I may be allowed to use the expres- 
sion.” 3 

“How gold mine?” asked Dudley. 

“Publication,” answered Barnes. “I now have virtually 
the whole thing; and some of it is bound to stir up the ani- 
mals a bit. I wouldn’t have thought of troubling you with 
all this but for hearing you say that Mr. McClintock is a 
reporter. I’m hoping you can give me a little advice, Mr. 
McClintock, on getting the thing into book form. I have 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD OMe 


it all in my mind, and notes and memoranda to keep it there. 
But I’ve got to get some one to write it down for me, as 
that’s something entirely out of my line.” 

“What you want, Mr. Barnes,’ I said, “is a literary chap 
—some one in the fiction line—a story writer.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. McClintock, but that’s the very thing 
I don’t want. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time— 
not to speak of some money—in digging up the truth about 
this affair ; and after all this to have it get into the hands of a 
story writer and be labeled on every page as a cheap con- 
coction of his brain would be a calamity. I don’t want any 
‘our hero’ and ‘dear reader’ and that sort of throw-down in 
the account of this Haworth case, nor any ‘Foreword’ or 
dedication to somebody whose loving care has helped me 
through or sustained me in hours of anguish. Everything 
that’s going into this book I saw, or heard, or got first-hand 
from the parties concerned. And as you’re in that line Mr. 
McClintock, I thought perhaps you could put me in the way 
of finding a reporter of the kind I need, who’d take it down 
the way I give it to him, the same as he would for a news- 
paper. I’m asking a great favor, but if you haven’t anyone 
in mind don’t hesitate to say so.” 

I considered for a little, but finally had to tell him that 
at the moment I couldn’t think of anyone available for such 
a piece of work. 

He rose apologetically, but hesitated an instant as he stood 
there. 

“T don’t suppose there’s a chance of its appealing to you?” 
he asked, looking me full in the face; and went on before I 
could open my mouth to answer: “It would net you three 


16 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


thousand, and as you don’t know me I’m perfectly willing to 
pay for each quarter of the work in advance.” 

By this time I’d recovered speech, and after expressing 
appreciation of his liberal offer, told him it would be im- 
possible for me to accept as I had a regular staff job and 
didn’t want to lose it. 

“Why lose it?’ he asked, seating himself again as he 
spoke. “Your work with me would scarcely take ten days, 
for you’d have the idea in your notebooks as fast as I could 
talk it off. You can take your time writing it out—not the 
least hurry about that. And if your managing editor doesn't 
want to give you the time off, I can follow you round and 
manage it evenings or whenever you had an hour or so to 
spare.” 

I was in a most peculiar mental condition, with this glit- 
tering chance to reach up and pull down three thousand dol- 
lars, and with Mr. Barnes’s impelling personality seeming 
almost to force me into the arrangement without any con- 
sideration whatever. I tried to pull myself together and 
shake off something that seemed like a “spell,” and in doing 
so caught sight of Dudley, whose chair was near but slightly 
back of mine. All through this talk about my doing the work 
I’d felt a consciousness of his sitting there quietly smoking, 
and wasn’t surprised, as I glanced about, to hear him say: 

“Why rush this ?” 

Mr. Barnes instantly disclaimed any idea of wishing to 
do so, explaining that as I’d appeared to show some slight 
interest in the matter, he’d been tremendously anxious to 
get before me whatever advantages it might possess. 

“Let’s have a look at the disadvantages,’ countered Dud- 
ley. “Suppose Mr. McClintock, on taking up the work (if 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 17 


he does that) finds, for one reason or another, that he'd 
rather not go on with it.” 

“He'll be at perfect liberty to discontinue,’ was Barnes’s 
quick rejoinder. “Tl say,” he added, “that at any time be- 
fore the first quarter of the work is finished he may abandon 
it without even troubling to give a reason.” 

Shortly after this we adjourned the conference to Dudley’s 
apartment—not far distant; and it was finally left that I’d 
have a night to think it over and that Barnes was to meet us 
at the Subtreasury the next day at four in the afternoon. 


“Think he’s straight?” I asked Duds, after we’d heard the 
elevator door clang to with Barnes going down in the car. 

“Put a question mark to that,” grunted Dudley as he lit 
his pipe. ‘But Dll say this,” he added a minute later, “if he 
isn’t, there’s nothing he’d stop at.” He reflected awhile and 
then went on: “Uncommon specimen I must say.... 
Strange sort of influence, too. ... If he’d had you there 
alone you'd be writing his book for him now.” 

We sat smoking for some little time before Duds made 
further observations. I waited patiently, realizing the value 
of his advice in such a matter. After a while he spoke up 
in the manner of having arrived at conclusions. 

“On the first shot I don’t see where he could get you,” he 
said. “Blackmail’s out of it. Robbery’s out of it. Playing 
this game to get a hook in you for another is out of it. 
Of course he didn’t come into that restaurant by any chance 
or accident.” 

MNO e? 

“Not on the cat’s pajamas—or whatever it is they say. 


18 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Wouldn’t be surprised if he followed you over from New 
Mork. 

“Why not talk to me there?” 

“Can’t say, but he had his reasons. Nothing accidental 
goes with him. ... All the same, what of it? If there’s 
anything criminal about his stuff, you can quit... . If he’s” 
cribbed it somewhere, that doesn’t touch you. Another 
thing: if you do it I’m going to sit in with you. If Barnes 
objects, he’s crooked and that ends it. Lot of things I don’t 
like about the man, from his one-sided smile to something 
damned peculiar back in his eyes. And I don’t take much 
stock in his book, or whatever it is. Most likely a blind to 
cover a job he’s got on hand. Rather interesting to know 
what it’s all about, eh? If he talks all right to-morrow, 
suppose we go ahead and see what he’s got!” 

Mr. Barnes certainly did talk all right the next day, and 
not only raised no objections to the presence of Dudley while 
the dictating was going on, but seemed quite enormously 
pleased at the proposal, explaining that with two of us hed 
be able to get his mind off the dictation business—which, to 
tell the truth, had rather alarmed him—and run it off on the 
idea of simply giving us an account of the affair. 

I phoned the office, and my managing editor gave me a 
week or ten days, which Mr. Barnes said would do. The 
working time was arranged to suit Dudley, as his affairs 
couldn’t be shifted. Always we had the evenings, and fre- 
quently the afternoons as well. The place was the living 
room of Dudley’s apartment. 

Mr. Barnes made it a part of the agreement that I should 
write out a brief statement of the episode of my trailing of 
Jamie Dreek, and our chance meeting with him (Barnes) 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 19 


in the restaurant,—this to serve as an explanation of his dic- 
tating the account of the affair to me. He suggested also 
that in this statement I make mention of the fact that be- 
cause of the incidents he proposed to relate being actual 
happenings with actual people involved in them, he felt it 
necessary in some cases to use fictitious names and addresses. 

This and the preceding pages constitute my effort to 
comply with Mr. Barnes’s wishes. 


PART II 


The following Account of a Series of Oc- 
currences in the Jamaica Plain District of 
Boston during the year 1920, and Certain 
Facts Relating Thereto, was dictated by 
Mr. Andrew H. Barnes, who claims to be 
one of the Only Two Persons now living 
who have a knowledge of the True Solu- 
tion of the Affair. The Recital of these 
things as set forth by him is in the main 
Correctly Reported. The Language Used 
ts as close an approach to his own as could 
be managed with the rapid stenography 
required. 


H. McC. 


DECREE who didn’t know—and let me tell you at the 

start that few did—could hardly avoid the supposition, 
on being shown into the offices of the Messrs. Harker & 
Pentecost, that they were entering the headquarters of a 
long-established, prosperous firm, evidently of high standing 
and doing a conservative and wisely managed business. Con- 
clusions such as these are by no means beyond what furni- 
ture, fittings, and employees are able to convey, and Mr. 
Pentecost had seen to it that all these things had done a part 
toward so conveying it. Everything of the best quality, and 
more important still, not new—nothing to suggest the flashily 


20 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 21 


fine furnishings so often associated with flashily conducted 
business. 

Three years and three months before this time at which 
I’m calling your attention to the firm’s office, they didn’t have 
any, and Mr. Hugo Pentecost had Mr. Stephen W. Harker 
in such a double-twisted strangle grip that it was either hand 
over whatever price the former named or the latter went to 
jail. There was only one answer to that, and when Mr. 
Harker said, “Name the loot, you bastard,” expecting a re- 
sponse of, “I’ll take the pot!’ he was considerably surprised 
to get no answer at ail. 

Pentecost—bullet-headed—regarded him with glassy, half- 
closed eyes. 

Harker—slim, dapper, perfectly dressed, with a pleasant, 
attractive face (which was a pearl without price in his busi- 
ness) finally broke the silence. 

“What’s masticating you?” he said. “You’ve got me cold, 
haven’t you? Go on an’ give it a name!” 

Pentecost spoke in a low, soft voice. “TI’ll take the busi- 
ness,” he said. 

“One minute, George. I’m-on to you from the send-off— 
see? You're the guy that drops down on the boys when 
they’ve been working hard for it an’ rakes ’em for ninety 
per cent! Quite a name you’ve made for yourself! Know 
what they call you in the Mercer Street joints? ‘The Vul- 
ture’—that’s what they’ve put on you!” 

“Fitting, too,” was the quiet rejoinder. “Vultures prey on 
the dead ones.” 

“T can cough twenty grand. Do you want it?” 

“You can cough forty-six, but I don’t want it. The busi- 
ness will do for the present.” 


ae THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Get to hell with it. My business is my business. Where 
do you cop the idea I can pass it around?” 

“No passing around—lI declare myself in.” 

Harker—a man seldom surprised and never showing it— 
stood looking at Pentecost, amazement concealed behind his 
“dead” face. 

“In on my game?” he finally asked. 

Pentecost nodded slightly. “But not as you play it, my 
friend,” he said. 


Harker was a successful fake promoter. Anything was 
grist for his mill that was slick enough in operation to catch 
the public fancy or timely enough to ride on the crest of a 
craze. Cheap novelties in medicine, food, housekeeping 
utensils, electric refrigerating and washing machines, oil- 
burning heaters,—anything attractive enough to sell stock 
on—that was the sole requirement. The organization of 
promoting companies—vast newspaper advertisements for a 
few days—window displays when it was an operating device 
of some kind; and after the crop from stock sales had been 
skillfully gathered in, came the little matter of the company 
paying for the patent or a factory site or whatever it was, 
and of course it took all the money realized on stock sales 
to do this; and as Harker was the man who happened to 
own the patent or factory site, he was naturally the person 
who sold it to the company, and there he was. 

But he wasn’t there for long. That was the chief incon- 
venience connected with this simple method of relieving the 
“one-born-every-minute” crowd of their superfluous capital. 
It compelled the practitioner to travel for his health after 
every operation. Often, too, he had to change his name as 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 23 


well as the climate, and to make some drastic alteration in 
what might be referred to as his identity. 

The reward, though, was frequently of large proportions, 
which it happened to be in the case I’m speaking of. And 
the vulture Pentecost, soaring above the vast and darkened 
stretches of crookdom, got the odor of tainted money and 
began circling nearer and nearer and eventually sunk his tal- 
ons into Mr. Harker and found that he was good. Also that 
his game was well enough—indeed might be quite a big one if 
properly run—the effective method of playing it flashing in- 
stantly through his mind. He observed, too, that Harker 
was a skillful operator; also a good looker as a figurehead 
for an important and high-class concern. He had planned 
for some time to have an office to work from. So it came to 
be a partnership. No papers of course—just understood. 
Harker was to run his line of work in the office of the firm 
—after that work had been put on Pentecost’s basis. Pente- 
cost would have the partnership and the office to give him 
solidity and standing in his own line of nefarious and fre- 
quently hazardous undertakings. He could, without trouble, 
pick up many things in Harker’s way and turn them over to 
him; and Harker could give him assistance in his own 
affairs, should he require it. They would divide at fifty- 
fifty. 

Before he took to vulturizing again Pentecost gave his 
attention to the rearrangement of the Harker game. An 
office that was “the thing” was found in precisely the local- 
ity required, and in a modest but high-class building. When 
it came to the matter of furnishings, not an item escaped him. 
Being thoroughly aware that the various articles in a room 


24 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


have voices and can cry out, he took good care to have only 
those which would use the tones that he wanted. 

Having now an office which would eloquently lie for them, 
the next thing in Mr. Pentecost’s scheme of operation was 
to secure a business reputation that would do the same. With 
this in view he and Harker went after inventions or devices 
for the firm to take hold of and exploit, that had some degree 
of solid merit. At the end of a year they had been able to 
get only two, in each case having to purchase from a com- 
pany that was running it at a profit. Expensive deals, but 
both men were plungers. They found another during 
the second year, and that made three, which was enough. 
Companies were organized for each and the business carried 
on with success and profit, large dividends going out to the 
stockholders; the firm, however, on account of the expenses 
involved in buying out going concerns, made nothing. 

Harker was now in a position to engineer another class of 
enterprise with entire safety. The firm was well known, 
conservative, solid. Stock of companies it organized was 
bought without question. Instead of piking along he found 
he had in his hands swindles of great magnitude. With the 
solid business they were doing an occasional failure cut no 
figure. 

The most important members of the office force—the 
heads of departments as you might say—were all in the 
family. Harker’s family, I mean—Pentecost had none. Al- 
fred Harker—son of the senior partner, twenty-two and a 
sharp one for his age—had charge of the office. Chief clerk, 
I suppose you might call him. The head stenographer, Miss 
Mary Finch Dugas, was a sister of Mrs. Harker, and the 
head accountant Mrs. Harker’s nephew. As for the others, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 25 


it didn’t matter. Nothing could get by young Harker or 
Miss Dugas or the head accountant that there was any reason 
for keeping in the shade. So the rest of the force had been 
picked—like the furniture and decorations—to express inno- 
cence and respectability—and they did it. 


When you realize that about two and a half years before 
this Mr. Pentecost (under another name) had been practis- 
ing law in Chicago—and would most likely have been there 
still if he hadn’t been disbarred—and that during the seven 
years he'd been at it he’d got to be one of the most success- 
ful and sought-after defense attorneys they’d ever had out 
there, you'll have a pretty good basis to figure on him, es- 
pecially when I tell you the sort of business he drifted into 
and his amazing methods of handling it. 

When he came to be notable in certain ways among the 
legal practitioners of Chicago, and inquiries began to be 
made as to who he was and where he came from, nobody 
could give the answer. A rumor went the rounds during the 
proceedings of his disbarment, that he’d formerly been a 
confidence operator of some kind and had gone listening 
in at the trial of one of his pals. It was said that something 
about the legal maneuvers and court proceedings so im- 
pressed him with the idea that a lawyer was a pretty slick 
thing to be, that he started right in studying and reading 
and got by in a couple of years. I don’t know what there is 
to that story, but it’s as good as any. 

He was a solid, thick-set man of average height, with dark 
eyes that bulged a little and occasionally went glassy—an 
odd trick you seldom see. Made you think he’d gone off and 
left them for a moment while he was attending to other 


26 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


matters. His eyelids a good part of the time were at half 
mast, giving him a sleepy sort of look. It had a great effect 
when, in a court proceeding, he suddenly came out of it with 
one of his lightning strokes. 

His face, smooth-shaven, was heavy and hardly ever ex- 
pressed anything, but he had expressions he could use when 
it suited his purpose. His forehead slanted back quite no- 
ticeably—not retreating in any sense—rather gave you. the 
idea of the possibility of sudden and relentless advance, like 
some beast that springs or strikes. All these things didn’t 
make him appear anything especially remarkable. You see 
lots of bullet-headed men about, also men whose eyes are 
prominent and may go glassy for all you know. And droop- 
ing eyelids aren’t uncommon. 


I’ve been speaking of this man as Mr. Pentecost, but that 
wasn’t his name at this time—in Chicago, I mean. On the 
door of his musty little office in the North Western Build- 
ing a bit of modest black lettering announced the occupant as 
Max Spellman, Attorney at Law. 

This Spellman (later Pentecost) had been plugging along 
in the law game out there for something like two years before 
he attracted attention. Then it began to be noticed in what 
is referred to as the underworld, that a young attorney in 
the Ashland Block seemed to be having extraordinary suc- 
cess in the cases of a number of small-caliber crooks for 
whose defense he’d been engaged or appointed. The court 
named him the first time, in a petty-larceny case where the 
accused was unable to get counsel. It was the ingenuity of 
this fellow’s tactics that first made him talked about, and 
a couple of instances of his lightning quickness and audacity 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 27 


went the rounds of crookdom. This underworld comment 
was hardly more than beginning when one of the high-up 
operators—a super-crook you might say—who’d been 
rounded up after a six months’ hunt—got Spellman to de- 
fend him, and from that time he was in the middle of 
the map. The upperworld now began to take notice, and 
inquiries regarding the man flew about, but found nothing 
to light on. 

More business than he could handle came in—and, with 
hardly an exception, from below. Of course he didn’t get 
verdicts for his clients every time, but his average was amaz- 
ing. There was always a surprise in some quick turn he’d 
make—some entirely unexpected stroke—the finding of new 
and vital evidence and the throwing it at them just when it 
would knock them silly. He’d get at them this way nearly 
every time, and of course there was a rush to finda flaw, but 
there wasn’t a screw or a bolt missing. 

Don’t get the idea that he was in the least spectacular. 
Nothing of the kind. No oratory nor impassioned pleading, 
nor any of those fancy things you read about. He'd sit 
hunched up like a toad in court, solid and motionless, never 
speaking unless necessary, and then in a voice so low that 
spectators, if there were any, found it difficult to hear. But 
—again like a toad—he struck with lightning quickness when 
the time came. 

To witnesses for the prosecution he was a scourge and 
a terror. His gentle questioning, his weary manner and 
sleepily drooping eyelids, nursed his victims into unguarded 
confidence, and then came the lightning out of a clear sky, 
striking upon the least contradiction or misstatement. His 
yery appearance at such times—the backward slant of his 


28 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


forehead, the sudden scorching fire of usually somnolent eyes 
—confused and disconcerted. 

~ When underworld business came in on him with a rush he 
began to be careful about what cases he took—not as to the 
guilt or innocence of the applicant, but in order to pick out 
what he hada sporting chance to win. The possibilities of what 
extraordinary and ingenious defense he could accomplish— 
sometimes not only approaching the danger line, but fre- 
quently going a considerable distance on the other side of it 
—would flash through his mind almost automatically as he 
made his first hasty examination of the case; upon the 
character and attractiveness (for he greatly enjoyed this 
phase of the game) of these possibilities would depend his 
going into the defense. 


After Spellman really got going there wasn’t much of 
anything in his line he wouldn’t do. All the tricks and 
political pulls were as lower-case a-b-c to him, not to speak 
of the intimate personal records of lawyers, judges, and 
police officials who were likely to come within his sphere of 
action. Sphere doesn’t sound precisely right, but you know 
what I mean. He had an extensive collection of the weak 
spots—vulnerable regions, you might say—everywhere, and 
saw in an instant how to play them in any given case. 
Through some sharp move or threat in the right direction, 
or by dropping a bit of money where he knew it would be 
picked up, or by whatever else he could use as a club, he’d 
be about ninety per cent sure to get his man out of the 
mess. 

One day, to give you an instance, the assistant cashier of 
a Chicago bank of fairly decent standing was shown into 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 29 


Spellman’s office, and told him, after some beating about, 
that he was shy in his accounts by some two hundred and 
fifty thousand. The man, whose name was Chatfield, gave out 
the well-known tale about playing the stock market. 

“All gone?” Spellman inquired, without bothering to pull 
up his drooping eyelids. 

“Why—I think—not quite.” | 

“Damn think! You know to a nickel what you’ve got!” 

“Yes—yes, sixteen thousand odd. I was—you see I was 
keeping it to—to get away on.” 

“They'll be on to you soon, of course, or you wouldn’t be 
here.” 

“There’s—there’s barely two days! My God! Barely 
two!” Chatfield glanced about in a kind of agony. ‘And 
the—” (he swallowed with difficulty) ‘the examiner might 
get here sooner. We can never be sure!” 

“You've got the remnant with you I see.” 

Chatfield nodded and his eyes moved painfully about in a 
way that made you think they’d fill up with tears in a minute. 

“You want me to handle this affair I take it.” 

“Oh, I hoped you would. That’s what I-——~” 

“Pass me the sixteen.” 

The terrified cashier handed Spellman a large fat envelope, 
which the latter opened in a weary sort of way, and having 
pulled the bunch of bills out a little way, flicked their ends 
as he might a pack of cards before the shuffle. Then he 
looked glassily at the assistant cashier for a full minute. 

“Can you steal another hundred thousand?” he finally 
asked. 

“Why—why—I—you don’t mean 


3? 


30 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Can you steal another hundred thousand?’ with no 
change in inflection. 

“Why—why, yes—I could—but you 

“Take you long?” | 

“Long?—Oh yes! Well—quite a while. I should say 
several hours.” | 

“Two o’clock is several hours. Come here with it then.” 

“Mr. Spellman, I can do it!—Yes—lI can you know—but 
they—they’re bound to find it out inside of twenty-four 
hours the way I—the way I’ve got to get it this time!” 

“T don’t care how you get it—I want it at two.” 

Of course it didn’t happen as quick as that. I’m only giv- 
ing you the high spots. 

When Chatfield came back at two with the money, Spell- 
man put it in his safe where the sixteen was already repos- 
ing. Then he phoned the bank and got an appointment. 
Inside of half an hour he was seated in the private office 
of the president, and was conveying to him alone (having 
satisfied himself that no witnesses were within hearing dis- 
tance) the information that he had a client, Henry Parsons 
Chatfield by name, who claimed to be the bank’s assistant 
cashier, and that—unless the man was lying—they’d find his 
accounts a matter of three hundred and fifty thousand short. 
He had strongly urged Mr. Chatfield, instead of trying to. 
escape with the hundred thousand or thereabout that he still 
had in his possession after dumping the rest into Wall Street, 
to return it to the bank and make a confession. This he 
found Chatfield willing to do provided he could be safe- 
guarded against arrest or legal action of any description. He 
(Spellman) wasn’t presuming to advise the acceptance of 
such a proposition, It seemed to be only a question of 


bP] 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 31 


whether the bank wished the money or preferred to prose- 
cute—the latter in case Chatfield could be apprehended. 

Every time the bank president broke out on him—which 
of course he did with all the force at his command—the law- 
yer cut him short. 

“I must say, sir—this is a most extraordinary—a most 
outrageous i, 

“Do you want it?” 

“Are you aware, Mr. Spellman, of your own risk in 

“Do you want it?” 

“We shall certainly take steps to 

“Do you want it?” 

But of course Spellman knew they did—knew they’d have 
to have it—or he wouldn’t have been there. Moreover, he 
noticed that the president made no move to ring the bell and 
call in other officials of the bank. The document he had 
ready was duly signed and executed. It wasn’t until after 
that was done and the thing securely in his possession that 
he paid over the hundred thousand to the bank. He returned 
six of the sixteen in his safe to Chatfield, and with it a 
biting comment on the assistant cashier’s consummate 
asininity. The remaining ten continued to remain. 


| 
99 


32 


For some time he played it this way, in and out of court, 
his adroit defenses of various kinds attracting more and 
more attention; and those who had begun to have symptoms 
of suspicion were very soon looking for questionable work 
back of the records. 

I’m going to tell you at once what I dare say you’ve sus- 
pected all along, that Spellman was an amazingly successful 
manufacturer of evidence. He couldn’t use it always, but 


ao THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


when he did, the play was a marvel. Everything came to 
that man in what is known asa flash. In the matter of bogus 
evidence he not only saw instantly where it would come in, 
but almost on the same ignition had the most elaborate de- 
fenses figured out for it with every point protected. 

No matter where those sharps and detectives who were 
after him dug in and followed back the lines, they couldn’t 
find a thing to get hold of. Witnesses had actually seen 
what they testified to—the circumstances and surroundings 
and objects spoken of and dates and time of day given, etc., 
stood every test. 

Yet notwithstanding the outcome of these investigations, 
I have to tell you that Mr. Spellman’s downfall resulted from 
a faulty piece of work in one of his manufactured-evidence 
structures. He knew that it was faulty and that they’d have 
it on him in the end, but the play did what it was intended to 
do, which was to hold open a loophole for escape just long 
enough so his client could dive through it. To save a com- 
rade who'd once saved him—that was what drove him to it. 
The outcome, which he plainly saw, didn’t come within a 
thousand miles of making him hesitate. What this man, 
whose name was Morrison, had done for him or what he 
had saved him from, never came out; but it must have been 
something worth while. 

Morrison was in bad. If the case should come to trial he’d 
stand no chance. Even Spellman couldn’t see any way out. 
His only hope lay in quick action. I give you an idea of 
Spellman’s play in this case to show you how it came about 
that he was eliminated from Chicago’s fetid life, and, as 
Hugo J. Pentecost, turned loose upon a more or less helpless 
world. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD as 


The quick action for the rescue of Bill Morrison from a 
more than serious predicament involved the buying up of an 
obscure movie actor named McArdle, doing small bits at the 
Essanay Studio on the North Side, who looked enough like 
Morrison to be his twin. Pentecost had used the movies in 
certain of his activities for a number of years, having found 
that field of endeavor packed with evidence possibilities that 
had never been worked; and in consequence he not only 
knew a lot of people employed in it, but he had quite a few 
of his own men scattered about in various studios. He re- 
membered this McArdle on the instant and must have paid 
him ten or twelve thousand to disappear utterly for six 
weeks and turn over everything he owned, including his 
name, clothing, diary, letters, photographs, accounts, con- 
tracts with Essanay, and, in fact, everything there was, to 
him. 

His game was possible because Morrison was a West Coast 
man and had never operated in Chicago before, and McArdle 
had only recently come over from London. If these things 
hadn’t happened to be the case, Spellman would have taken 
some other track. But he instantly saw the possibilities of 
this game if he rushed it and planted money lavishly in a few 
necessary places. 

The Essanay was an enormous concern in those days, fre- 
quently taking fifteen or twenty pictures simultaneously, and 
naturally couldn’t keep a close watch on their hundreds of 
small-part people—of whom McArdle was one. Particularly 
was this so because these “artists” were hardly ever seen at 
the studio except in make-up. 

The crime for which Morrison was arrested—a murderous 


34 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


assault on one of the clerks in a jewelry store—was commit- 
ted in the early afternoon, and he was picked up by the police 
that same evening. At the time of the assault McArdle 
was engaged in his work in one of the Essanay studios. 
Spellman got at him in his room in a cheap apartment build- 
ing between six and seven o'clock the next morning. It 
was, of course, vital to the game that McArdle should not 
go to the studio again, and, indeed, should be seen by no one 
who knew him. Those who had seen and recognized him 
after the time of Morrison’s arrest must be taken care of. If 
they couldn’t be, the game was off. 

But the game wasn’t off on that account, for McArdle had 
been in his rooms all the evening and no one had come there. 
He had dined at a cheap restaurant near, but that was four 
hours before Morrison’s arrest. Clear sailing so far. The 
money bargain was arranged after Spellman had lifted the 
figure to the point where the temptation wrestled successfully 
with McArdle’s fears. 

As soon as Spellman had this nailed down he let Morrison _ 
know by a prearranged signal—for he didn’t want to go 
near him just then—and Morrison began to cut up in his 
cell and cry and beg to see some one, as he wanted to con- 
fess. In the inspector’s office it transpired that what he was 
so anxious to tell them was not that he was guilty, but that 
when arrested the night before he’d been so terrified for fear 
his employers in Chicago would hear of it that he’d given 
them a fictitious name; but now he realized that he’d got 
to send word to the Essanay studios that he couldn’t get there 
for his scene. You had to notify them. If you didn’t they’d 
never give you another job. And would they please send 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 35 


word for him to the Essanay? Couldn’t they say he’d been 
in an automobile accident?—for if they knew up there that 
he was in jail it would be the end of him. 

He finally told them that his name was Walter McArdle, 
that he’d lately come over from England, and that his occu- 
pation was acting for the movies. He had no family and 
the only people he knew were the Essanay managers who 
engaged him, and a few of the actors in the company—and 
those not very well. Morrison was an artist and pushed it 
along the line of one of his pet roles. Everything tended to 
show that the man was Walter McArdle. He later described 
without effort or hesitation his lodgings on Rand Street and 
everything in them (I don’t need to say that Spellman had 
been there first), where to find his accounts, letters from 
home, how many shirts he had, and so forth and so on. 

He told them, in answer to questions, all about the picture 
he’d been working in; you see Spellman had got everything 
possible out of McArdle before he left. But his crook 
artistry led to his instructing Morrison to make a slip or 
two in places where a person with an ordinary memory 
might not have been quite sure. Remembering too much is 
often more dangerous than remembering too little. 

McArdle, except in rare instances, was seen at the studio 
in North Chicago only with his make-up on, and in these 
tare instances it would be only for brief moments as he 
passed in or out of the building on his way to and from 
his dressing room. As a consequence those associated with 
him in the picture—directors, photographers, electricians, 
property men, and his fellow actors in the cast—were misled 
by Morrison’s close resemblance, and testified to his being 


26 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


McArdle, and that he was at the studio occupied with his 
work in the picture on the afternoon the robbery and assault 
was committed. His entire familiarity with the piece they’d 
been filming and incidents that happened during its prog- 
ress—some, indeed, on the very afternoon of the arrest—had 
great weight in the Essanay offices. 

There were three persons whose evidence cost money, 
owing to the fact that they knew McArdle too well for 
Morrison to get by: the manager of the cheap restaurant 
where the movie actor got his meals; the girl waitress at 
the same place; and the actor who dressed in the same room 
with him at the Essanay studios. Particularly the last. He 
was a bit “fly” and saw that he had them. Also he wanted 
his in advance. This mass of evidence, with much more— 
such as that of the janitor of the building where McArdle 
roomed and many minor things that had been attended to 
—accomplished its purpose. No doubt existed that the police 
had arrested the wrong man. The police themselves were 
convinced of it. And the necessary formalities for his re- 
lease having been gone through, Bill Morrison made his 
getaway. 

Not many days later Max Spellman did the same. 

The collapse of the jerry-built structure that Spellman had 
hastily thrown together for a rush showing, with its appar- 
ently overwhelming evidence of mistaken identity, was de- 
ferred several days longer than he expected. He waited on 
the one-in-a-thousand chance that it might, after all, escape 
destruction. But on the third day after Morrison had gone, 
a strange car with a disguised Spellman in it disappeared 
north of the Lake Boulevard, and Chicago saw him (as Spell- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 37 


man) no more. The first weak point to give way was the 
flapper waitress, who found it impossible to keep her mouth 
shut about the money she’d been paid to do that very thing. 
That started the crash. Proceedings for Spellman’s disbar- 
ment swiftly followed. In addition it began to be said about 
that he was “wanted.” But wanting was a matter of some 
distance from getting. How could it be otherwise when 
Spellman had ceased to exist? It was a plain case of trans- 
migration of souls. The spirit that had tenanted the body of 
Max Spellman now moved into that of Hugo Pentecost— 
quite another proposition; and not differing alone because 
of a dark and well-trimmed beard, giving him something the 
appearance of a prosperous and experienced physician, but 
owing as well to a number of other changes in form, shape, 
expression, and more or less minor characteristics. 

This metamorphosis, however, took time, and for months 
nothing was known of the man undergoing it. Then some- 
thing peculiar began to dawn on the Crooks’ and Malefac- 
tors’ Guild. (You may as well call it that as anything.) 
Two or three large operations engineered by some of the Big 
Ones were mysteriously “tapped’”—which is to say, the 
operators found themselves caught in a situation where they 
had to give up a share or quit—otherwise it was the cooler. 
It wasn’t a great while before word passed along that a peg 
was playing them from the dark side. Whoever this super- 
crook might be, he continued to stay in the gloom. When 
he got the hook in his victim, his agent called, and it was 
pay or get it in the neck. And as this came to be played on 
them more and more they began putting a name to him— 
“The Vulture.” 


38 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


It’s hardly necessary to call your attention to the fact that 
the recently arrived Mr. Pentecost had a most extraordinary 
equipment for the prosecution of such undertakings. Fully 
acquainted, even before he took up the practice of law in 
Chicago, with every phase of criminality, and familiar with 
the methods and characteristics of those engaged in it, his 
Spellman career brought to his hand all the weapons of 
sharp practice and chicanery that the crafty and hazardous 
defense of his underworld clients compelled him to use. 


More than two years after Mr. Spellman’s disappearance, 
Mr. Stephen Harker (not operating under that name at the 
time) became suddenly aware that the talons of the offensive 
bird recently spoken of had sunk themselves into him. But 
a remarkable thing occurred. “The Vulture’ wanted to see 
him. A meeting was arranged by an agent. Pentecost had 
a few tried and tested assistants in his business whom he 
liked to refer to as “‘trusties,” and this man was one of them. 
A year later he had fifteen or twenty mostly planted in the 
large cities throughout the country. These men were occu- 
pied solely in assisting him about his own operations—he had 
no idea of getting control of others and becoming a big boss 
of criminality like those you read about. Nobody ever did 
that anyway. 

At the time he saw Harker he was beginning to have 
schemes for some of the most daring operations that had 
ever been conceived, and he’d got the idea that it would . 
be a great advantage to work from the sound basis of a 
partnership and an office and a high-class rating. 

The thing was brought about, resulting in the firm of 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 39 


Harker & Pentecost, with a perfectly satisfactory standing 
in the business world. Harker was the senior partner, but 
Pentecost was the power plant, and as soon as Harker got 
a gleam of the extraordinary sort of person it was who'd 
picked him up, he didn’t want it any other way. The 
running of the promoting schemes was left in his hands, 
while Pentecost conducted operations that were sufficiently 
dangerous and unusual to interest him. These affairs took 
him to all parts of the country, and he quite frequently 
spotted something in the way of a novelty that was more 
or less in Harker’s department. He couldn’t so much as 
glance at a thing without having a complete and, more often 
than not, amazingly ingenious method of operating it flash 
automatically through his mind. 

They pegged along with a sort of team work for some time, 
Pentecost running to operations with a higher and higher 
- percentage of danger to them, and Harker running to a 
higher and higher degree of anxiety on account of same, 
for owing to the partnership, he was in on them too. Once 
in a while he’d try to hook Pentecost back from something, 
but he never succeeded, and as one after another of these 
close-call enterprises got by—always, it turned out, pro- 
tected by the most remarkable system of defensive lay-outs 
ever seen—he quit talking about it. That big risk and pro- 
tection game appeared to be Pentecost’s delight. Often it 
would seem that he purposely played it as close as he could | 
just to see them come up against his extraordinarily laid-out 
safety systems. 


He was over in Boston one summer (it was the third year 
of the partnership), and had been there some five or six 


40 wey THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


weeks attending to a little affair he had going in that town. 
Rather an ancient game it was, but he’d taken advantage 
of conditions to rejuvenate it. “Fifty per cent in forty-five 
days and pull out whenever you like,’ was the captivating 
slogan set in circulation. All the boobs ask for is a new 
excuse. If they can’t understand it, all the better—so long 
as it has the sound of money. Pentecost had one for them 
right fresh off the bat of the World War. “International 
Postal Reply Coupons” was his, and it did the trick. After 
the prompt payment of the forty-five days’ interest two or 
three times, there was a rush. People blocked the corridors 
of the office building where the headquarters of this hoary 
but brought-up-to-date swindle were situated, and fought 
for places in the line so they could get the chance to pitch 
away their money. Over nine million five hundred thou- 
sand was shaken out of socks and drawn out of savings banks 
and pushed over to Pentecost—or rather to the dummy he’d 
put in as manager, for of course he never appeared in it 
himself. This dummy was an innocent, simple-minded Ital- 
ian, or Italian-American, dug up by one of Pentecost’s men 
and buzzed by two or three of them till he really came to 
believe this “Postal Reply” business was a gorgeous and 
legitimate undertaking. So enthusiastic about it did he be- 
come that he set to work with something bordering on reli- 
gious frenzy; and so completely did his favorable opinion of 
the enterprise take possession of him that when, some time 
later, the warning signal went up and Pentecost notified him 
—through his trusties—to quit at once and he’d find a high- 
powered car waiting for him at a certain place, the fellow 
refused to budge. He was perfectly sure the Postal Reply 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 41 


Coupons affair was a profitable and reputable undertaking, 
and if the owners, whoever they were, were going to give it 
up, he’d go on with it himself. He had clerks there who 
knew the way torunit. It was in vain the two men who had 
charge of him—the same two who’d been making a nightly 
clean-up of the day’s receipts, transferring the amounts to 
various banks in the distant cities—argued with him. 

When Pentecost heard of the Italian’s crazy ideas he made 
every possible effort to get him away. The simplicity and 
innocence of the poor devil hit him in the one spot where he 
was soft. But in this affair the time was too short. The 
police pounced on the Italian before Pentecost’s men could 
kidnap him, as they had orders to do. 

The Sunday following, in his rooms at one of the hotels, 
Mr. Pentecost had a stack of the morning papers and was 
lazily running through the sensational accounts of the col- 
lapse of the Postal Reply Swindle, with their graphic de- 
scriptions of the arrest of the Italian supposed to have been 
at the head of it—of his wild insistence that everything was 
all right—of the frantic mob of investors fighting and 
screaming for their money—together with the statenrents and 
opinions of inspectors, district attorneys, financiers, Post 
Office authorities and what not, on the various aspects of 
the colossal fraud. It was a most amusing mess—one he’d 
have enjoyed immensely if his crazy Italian hadn’t got the 
hooks in him. He was sore as the devil about that. 

As he carelessly turned the pages in other parts of one of 
the huge Sunday editions, his eye was suddenly caught and 
held by the heading of a full-page write-up in one of them, 
which read: : 


ip THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
HERMIT INVENTOR OF WEST ROXBURY 


MECHANICAL GENIUS SOLE OCCUPANT OF OLD CRIPPS 
MANSION 


MARVELOUS MACHINES BUT NO SALES 


Pentecost had been lolling about in bathrobe and slippers, 
but now he sat erect and read on rapidly. The article 
strongly reinforced the notion he’d got from the headlines 
that he might find something out there that would come in 
nicely for Harker. His plan had been to leave for New 
York on the “Merchants’ Limited” (that is, the Sunday train 
running at that time on the “Merchants’” schedule), but he 
decided to take one of the night expresses instead, so he 
could get out to Roxbury and see what the fellow had. 

The article spoke of the mansion as being on Torrington 
Road, but gave no further indication of its locality, and even 
at so early a stage of a barely possible chance, Pentecost 
would no more have thought of making enquiries than of 
swallowing rat poison. There were two or three pictures of 
the house, and several of the mechanical genius himself, 
which might help some. He took a taxi, dismounting as 
soon as they reached Torrington Road. After paying the 
fare and observing that the vehicle had safely disappeared 
townward with no questionable hesitation, he walked up the 
road. It was late in the afternoon and warm—the date being 
precisely mid August. 

Mr. Pentecost, as he thought he could, recognized the 
old Cripps mansion from the newspaper illustrations. As he 
walked up the weed-grown and rutted driveway there was 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 43, 


nothing he failed to take in: the ruinous gateway at the 
entrance with its great square posts—once painted white, 
but now a streaked and dirty brown, and one of them con- 
siderably off plumb; the neglected lawns with their tangles 
of overgrown grass and weeds and ancient misguided shrub- 
bery that had long since heeded the call of the wild; the old 
elm trees clustered about the house and densely shading it; 
and the mansion itself, much needing paint and repair, par- 
ticularly as to the huge wooden columns supporting the roof 
of a front portico two stories in height. 

He saw, too, that the walls of the house were covered with 
a heavy growth of Virginia creeper and that this vigorous 
vine was massed thickly about most of the windows. An- 
other thing he noticed was that several panes of glass were 
broken out of the second-story window on the left under 
the portico roof, and that the opening had been boarded 
up on the inside. 

He noted all these things without pause while approaching 
the house, which was set at some distance back from the 
road ; and after mounting the wide stone steps of the portico 
and crossing it, he pressed the push button at the right of the 
door. After waiting a little he gave it a more forceful shove. 
Still getting no response, he was in the act of raising his 
hand to the large and rusty knocker when the door was 
quietly opened and a rather tall and exceedingly slender 
young man stood before him in the dimness of the hall. 


PART IIL 


NICP* people who knew the house supposed that 
Michael Sutherland Cripps was the builder as well as 
the owner and occupant of the Cripps Mansion, as it was 
called, in the district of Boston popularly referred to as West 
Roxbury, though in reality situated in the southwestern ex- 
tension of Jamaica Plain. But most people were mistaken. 
Mr. Cripps had, about middle life, made a pretty good 
“deal”—for those days—when he suddenly got on to the 
way things were going inthesuburbs and made a few choice 
investments. As a result, he became what was then called 
a millionaire. Of course he’d have been a mere piker now, © 
but as he couldn’t read the future, he was well satisfied. 
At last he could do something. And the first thing was to get 
some sort of a family about him, 

You see, this Cripps was naturally a lonely man—actually 
suffered unless he had people in the house with him; and he 
hadn’t had anybody since the death of his parents some years 
before. 

What I’ve said shows you that he had no family of his ~ 
own—wife and all that. He wasn’t at all a woman hater, 
but he was a merciless woman critic. Odd thing, too, for he 
liked them first off, but every time he got within striking 
distance of matrimony he saw what a tiresome thing it was 
likely to be, and thereupon fled for his life. | 

All the same, his ideal was to live in the midst of a family, 


44, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 45 


—to have about him those who would be company for him 
and yet not have “claims” and things like that, that would 
make life a wretched bore. 

Now that he’d made his haul, his first thought was to ad- 
vertise for a family to come and live with him. But really 
nice people wouldn’t answer such an ad, and that was the 
only kind he wanted. Along here the thought of his own 
relatives occurred to him. That wasn’t a bad idea. He’d 
get some of them to come. 

His only near relative was a widowed sister, Cynthia Find- 
lay, living with her two children in St. Louis. Mr. Cripps 
had been supporting them for a number of years, both before 
and after her husband—a poor, disreputable fish—died of 
drink. She inherited nothing of value from Mr. Findlay 
except his absence, which was priceless but couldn’t be turned 
into money. She wouldn’t have parted with it, anyway. 

He’d always liked Cynthia, and she’d had a tough life of it. 
He’d have her as a starter for his adopted-family enterprise. 
Yes, and the children would come in nicely, too. He’d 
always heard that children kept things lively. Well, that was 
the way he wanted them. 

He had quite a lot of kin in the cousin line—mostly sec- 
onds. A male one consented to accept his invitation—for a 
_ time at least, and brought with him a sprightly wife and two 
quite charming grown-up daughters. 

Then there were two elderly ladies who might be called 
cousins-in-law, one being the widow of a distant cousin and 
the other her sister. He was delighted that they would come, 
for they were witty and cheerful and level-headed. 

And there were several youngish chaps in the remote dis- 
tances of relationship. Cripps succeeded in getting two of 


46 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


them—one a second-rate sort of thing, the other a decent 
young fellow who was temporarily out of a job and was 
persuaded to try to find one in Boston. 

That seemed to be about the limit of what he wanted. The 
only children he drew were his sister’s two youngsters, 
Dorothy and Augustus, nine and five years old, respectively. 

After Mr. Cripps made sure he could get a decent lot to 
come and be a family to him, he looked about for a satisfac- 
tory place in which to establish it—and found it. One of the 
finest old places of the time it was, out Roxbury way on 
Torrington Road, and he picked it up at an extraordinary 
bargain. 

He had the house done over in various ways and every- 
thing up to date, said date being back in the Nineties, but 
they had a few things even in that benighted decade. Gas, 
electricity, telephones, half a dozen bathrooms, a hot water 
heating system, and a few little things like that, did him 
very well. Fora couple of years or so he had to manage as 
best he could with horses—but after that motor cars came 
in. Movies, aeroplanes and radio he had to struggle along 
without. But not knowing about them made the deprivation 
less severe. 

Michael Cripps was a good spender and was bound to have 
the best of everything. A delightful host he was, too, revel- 
ing in the consciousness that he was taking care of people— 
giving them. a good time. Besides his adopted family, he’d 
go out of his way to track down some unfortunate boyhood 
friend, or some far distant relative who hadn’t done well, 
and give him the time of his life. 

So there he was, no longer suffering the—to him—hideous 
nightmare of having to live alone in a desolate house, but 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 47 


situated in a luxurious mansion, virtually in the country, yet 
only a few miles from the violently beating heart of the town, 
and surrounded by his own people, who turned out to be very 
enjoyable company—some of them, indeed, quite charming. 

All went well and pleasantly—if you leave out occasional 
minor discords of small consequence—for quite some years. 
But owing to the inroads of death, marriage, and desertion, 
the population of the mansion decreased as time went on, 
_and no way to recruit it to full strength occurred to Mr. 
Cripps. His sister Cynthia died early in 1904 and was fol- 
lowed by her daughter Dorothy a year and a half later. 
Others of the household had crossed the line; then, too, a 
couple of marriages had snatched their victims from the 
fold; and a few of the members of this synthetic family 
had departed for reasons of their own. 

It had been quite a successful experiment as experiments 
- go—morte so than you’d think; and there’s no denying that 
old Cripps had got a lot of satisfaction out of it. But the 
thing had been falling away from him piece by piece, and 
finally his sister’s son Augustus was the only one left in the 
house with him. The old man had had a good pull at it, but 
here he was down to the last dreg—as you'd be likely to call 
it if you were acquainted with that precious nephew of his. 

Being the only near relative that old Mr. Cripps now had 
on hand—or, indeed, had at all—it was generally supposed 
that Augustus Findlay would inherit the mansion, together 
with whatever else the old gentleman should die possessed of. 
But all did not go well between the two and there were 
times when gossip had it that the sporty young nephew 
would lose out on the “give and bequeath” proposition if he 
didn’t shove down the emergency brake on his behavior. 


48 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


It was surely a trying thing for Michael Sutherland 
Cripps, with age and rheumatism already beginning to frolic 
with him, and the most of his once big pile melted away— 
or more truthfully pelted away, for during these years of 
his family life he’d spent without limit—to have to associate 
on intimate terms with a most objectionable brat of a nephew, 
coming in nearly every night of his life fuddled with booze 
—a cheap skate, and an unmitigated loafer in the real sense 
of the word, for at the age of twenty-six never a thought of 
earning his living had crossed his mind. Yet with all that 
he wasn’t a bad looker—almost handsome in a dissipated sort 
of way. And he could be charming on occasion. Women 
appeared fascinated by him—that is, some women. He had a 
high-class one on the line once and came near landing her, 
but she found out in time, tore out the hook, and swam 
away. 

People wondered that old Cripps, whose violent tem- 
per was known throughout the West Roxbury and Jamaica 
Plains districts, was standing for that sort of thing in the 
house with him day after day—night after night. But the 
poor old boy had a reason for standing it—his absolute terror 
of being left alone. Whatever else the presence of Augustus 
did to him it saved him from that. 


One afternoon late in October (it was 1910 by this time) 
Mr. Cripps was in the attic of the mansion trying to find 
something, when his glance happened to light on an old trunk 
in which he’d been accustomed to put letters from people ac- 
knowledging his delightful hospitality—a lazy way of keep- 
ing a visitors’ book. Up to now he’d only once had occasion 
to refer to these letters, and then merely to get an address. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 49 


So long as the Present held out as an agreeable institution, 
Cripps didn’t care a great deal about recollections of bygone 
episodes. But of late the Present hadn’t been doing so well 
by him, and the Past was beginning to exhibit symptoms of 
attractiveness. One of these symptoms now manifested it- 
self, drawing him so gently that he could hardly feel its pull, 
toward the old trunk of letters. He found a crippled chair 
in which he sat down before the thing and managed—with 
some little difficulty—to raise the lid. 

He'd been there nearly an hour, glancing at letters which 
he picked up at random here and there, when he came upon a 
little package of three tied together and addressed in a hand 
he’d forgotten. But when he began to read one of them he 
remembered. It was from a young girl who'd been visiting 
there. | 

More than eighteen years ago the first of the letters was 
written. Pretty handwriting it was. Now he came to think 
of it, he’d always liked her handwriting, whoever she was. 
Glancing at the end, he found that she had signed herself 
Iris. Oh yes, now he began to remember! Quite a—yes— 
quite a charming little thing she was, too! By Jove yes! 
And he’d come very near to—to His thoughts whirled 
a little here, but they settled down again in a moment. What 
was all this—he hadn’t married her, so why bother about 
it? He couldn’t quite recall how she came to be visiting 
there. Oh yes, now he remembered! She was a distant 
relative—almost indescribably distant. One of those things 
like second cousin of your brother-in-law’s first wife. And 
that reminded him that he used to call her his cousin a thou- 
sand times removed! It had been quite a joke between 
them; and at one time he had come breathlessly near to 


50 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


wiping out the entire bunch of removals by making one little 
suggestion—which, however, he never made. No, he never 
made it, worse luck! Or was it worse? A sweet little thing 
she was, and her name was—her name He’d forgotten 
it again and glanced at the end of the letter. Oh, Iris—yes, 
of course! Iris Heminway. He got her last name himself. 
His dear little cousin, a thousand times removed. He 
couldn’t think what ever became of her! Nothing in the 
letter but what a perfectly lovely visit she’d had. Perhaps 
the next one might have something. Postmark made it four 
weeks later—no, five. He began to read. That was it— 
just what he thought! Somebody has asked her to marry 
him and she doesn’t know what to do. Wants to know what 
he thinks of her marrying a machinist. Machinist! He 
couldn’t recall what he’d answered. Most likely he’d told 
her to go on and marry the entire machine shop if she felt 
drawn to it! By George—now he thought of it, he did say 
just that! Rotten beastly pride! Huffed that she’d spoken 
of some one else—and there she was giving him the chance, 
even though he’d never written to her in all that time! Prob- 
ably doesn’t give the chap’s name. Yes—there it was— 
Haworth! (Reading to himself from the letter): “His 
name is Charlie Haworth. He’s a special kind of a machinist 
and draughtsman and his home is in Montreal. I’m sure 
he is a splendid fellow, but I thought I would like to ask 
your advice about it.” 

That was all. She didn’t say when or where, but just 
wanted his advice. Well, he’d given it to her! 

And here was the last letter—Canada stamp and Montreal 
postmark. Yes, she’d married the machinist and gone up 
there. Two years later the letter was, according to the post- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD : 51 


mark. —Oh! Baby! That was it! (Reading again to 
himself: “. . . wanted you to know, so I’m writing you the 
first one. Of course we want his name to be from his father 
—Charles—but I thought you wouldn’t mind if we called 
his middle name after you, so it will be Charles Michael 
Haworth.” 

The old man sat there for quite a while, staring before 
him. Then, rather suddenly, the thought came to him that 
he might be able to find these people, especially that boy— 
though of course he wouldn’t be a boy any longer. He'd 
be along seventeen or eighteen, he should think. He looked 
at the letter again. Montreal, and she gave the street ad- 
dress ; but that was years ago. He might try it though, just 
to see. Charles Michael Haworth. He rather liked the 
name. 

That evening he wrote a letter to the address given and 
sent it out to the nearest mailbox. 

But in the night he got to thinking the thing over so in- 
tensely that sleep was impossible. It came to him then that 
the letter business was a waste of time. He got nervous, 
too, about the matter of death, the thought of which seldom 
bothered him. And on top of everything his dissolute 
nephew came lurching into the house about four-thirty in the 
morning, banging the heavy front door after him so that 
the building shuddered, careening against furniture, and 
finally stumbling up the stairway, all the while emitting a 
stream of disconnected profanity. 

This was the finishing touch for old man Cripps. He 
rolled himself out of bed and made one bull rush—in his 
nightgown and bare feet—into the upper hall, meeting the 
astonished inebriate near the head of the stairs, Seizing 


$2 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


him by the collar with both hands, he shook him back and 
forth, then dragged him bumping and rolling down the stairs, 
through the great entrance hall, out of the front door, across 
the entrance portico, and from there heaved him sprawling 
into the roadway. 

For one instant the enraged old man stood looking at the 
dark mass lying there at the bottom of the steps, then turning 
with a sudden start he charged back into the house and up 
the stairs again and through the upper hall to his nephew’s 
bedroom, where he seized with frenzied clutchings all the 
clothing he could find in drawers, closets, on chairs, and on 
the floor, which he forthwith pitched out through the door- 
way into the hall, prancing back and forth across the room a 
dozen times or more to do it. 

Where the old gentleman got his wind for all this would 
be a serious problem in physics and chemistry, for he was 
heavily built, underexercised, and with a tobacco heart. Any- 
way, he did it. 

As soon as he’d cleared out everything he could find he 
rushed out and down the hall to his own room, and shoved in 
every bell push in the place, and kept on shoving until the 
chauffeur came running up the stairs, followed by both maids 
and the cook, and shortly after by the head gardener and his 
ten-year-old son from their cottage near. All were clutch- 
ing together such garments as they'd hastily snatched up 
and thrown on over their night clothes. 

Mr. Cripps had a fad for bells from his room to everyone 
concerned. But it was the chauffeur he wanted this time, 
and he yelled to him to get the car (it was 1910 by now, and 
of course he had one) and take the blankety-blank carcass 
of putrid hogwash at the bottom of the front steps an’ dump 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 53 


it in the road—anywhere—any street—any road! Just get 
the blankety-blank-blank-blank out of this place and his 
clothes with him—that was all he asked! 

“Here, you!” he shouted in a general way to the maids 
and cook, “pitch those clothes out on top of him where Henry 
can find ’em—that pile in front of his door! Take ’em all— 
every damn stitch—you understand? Throw out everything 
he’s got! Don’t leave a damn thing he ever touched!” (To 
the chauffeur) “And when you’ve dumped the dirty loafer, 
and his putrid stuff on top of him, a couple of miles down 
the road, you come back and take me to town! North Sta- 
tion is what I want! I'll be gone two or three days, and if 
any of you people allow that dirty, foul-mouthed, booze- 
soaked bum to crawl back into this house while I’m away 
Pll fire the lot of you—take that from me!” 

As in many instances, I can give you, in this one, only an 
approximate idea of the language used. I had the testimony 
of four persons who were witnesses of the scene, and the 
only danger is that it lacks the proper amount of intensity 
and force. If it isn’t clear what happened, just take it that 
Augustus Findlay was thoroughly and effectually kicked out 
of the house. 

The servants, without exception, liked old man Cripps. 
You could almost say they were fond of him. Their opinion 
of Augustus I needn’t mention; so there wasn’t the slightest 
danger that he’d get into the house again even if they had to 
take turn and turn about in night watches to make sure of it. 

The maids attended to the throwing out of the clothes 
_ with a spirit that could only have been born of the great 
enjoyment they took in the work, and the chauffeur did no 
less when it came to his part of the job. After which he 


BAN THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


transported the old gentleman to the North Station, getting 
him there in time for the morning train to Montreal. 


Those three faded letters from Iris Heminway sent old 
Mr. Cripps to Canada in the hope of finding her and her 
husband and boy, and persuading them to come and live 
with him. But after an hour on the train he began to 
realize what an extremely off chance he had of succeeding in 
his quest, with the meager amount of information in his pos- 
session. They might have moved to another town—they 
might even be dead. Many things can happen in eighteen 
years. But now he’d started, he was going on with it! Well, 
he should think so! 

The following morning he began the search, and had no 
difficulty in finding the address. It was a modest frame cot- 
tage beginning to show its age. A large middle-aged woman 
came to the door, and when Mr. Cripps explained that he 
was trying to trace a family named Haworth which had 
once occupied the house, she said at once, “Oh, I can tell 
you that,” and asked him in. 

In the little front room she said: “Charlie lives here with 
me. Was it ‘im you was askin’ about?” 

He was so dumfounded at coming upon the object of his 
search at the very start that his “yes” was hardly audible. 
Then he added, “And—and Mrs. Haworth and the boy?” 

“It’s the boy as is ’ere, sir; there ain’t none of ’em left 
but ’im.” 

They sat down in the small room. 


“You don’t—you don’t mean both of his parents are 
dead !” | 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 55 


“Yes, sir! ’Is mother she died about three years ago, an’ 
is father quite a spell before that.” 

“And the little boy’s been living here with you since?” 

“Yes, sir, ’e ’as. But you'd ’ardly call ’im litile, sir; ’e’s 
comin’ on to eighteen.” 

“Yes yes—of course. I knew he must be grown up, but 
in spite of that I couldn’t help thinking of him as a youngster. 
Is he—is he a nice boy? All right and—and straight—and 
good habits.?” 

“Indeed ’e is—a dear boy—but ’e’s a bit strange; an’ I 
’opes, sir, if you ’ave any influence with ’im, you'll try if you 
ean’t do something about it.” : 

“Influence! But my God! I’ve never seen him, 
Mrs. ie 

“’Towse, sir.” 

“Well, you see, Mrs. Towse, I don’t know the boy at all, 
and what’s more I doubt if he ever heard of me. So what 
I might say would hardly count with him, would it?” 

“Of course,’ Mrs. Towse said, “if you don’t know ’im you 
couldn’t do anything just yet, but after you get acquainted 
’e might listen to you.” 

“What seems to be the matter?” Mr. Cripps inquired. 
The devastating fear had come upon him that it might be an- 
other case of Augustus, 


“Tt’s the way ’e was born, I suppose. ’E’s got so many 
ideas of ’is own that ’e can’t go along satisfactory with w’at 
you might call reg’lar work. W’y, ’e’d be a first-class ma- 
chinist drawin’ good pay, but ’e’s so full o’ plans an’ ideas 
for this an’ that, ’e don’t seem to keep ‘is mind on anything 
they put ’im to.” 


56 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Mr. Cripps inquired if the young man was doing anything 
just now. 

“Mercy on us! Why, we can’t ’ardly get ’im ’ome for ’is 
meals, ’e’s that taken up with *is invention work; but the 
thing ’e gets to workin’ on don’t never seem to be w’at people 
want.” 

“What kind of things are they?” 

“W’y, there’s all sorts. °E gets an idea an’ then nothin’ 
can stop ’im—no matter wether it’s somethin’ worth 
botherin’ with or not. Some o’ the best men in Smith an’ 
Gaynor’s—that’s w’ere his father use to work—they say 
’e’s got a wonderful invention faculty an’ Mr. Gaynor ’imself 
said it just after ’e’d been lookin’ over a clock Charlie made. 
It took ’im nigh to a year to finish it. Mr. Gaynor said the 
boy ’ad some kind o’ new an’ un’eard-of escapin’ thing I 
b’lieve they called it, that no one had ever seen or thought of 
before.” 

“Wouldn’t it sell?” 

“Not at first it wouldn’t, but w’en ’e’d ’most given it up a 
Mr. Patterson ’appened to come along an’ offered ’im two 
*undred dollars for it an’ a patent on the new escapin’ thing, 
an’ Charlie took it. That might sound good enough for a 
clock, but it ain’t no pay w’en you comes to consider eleven 
months’ work, not to speak of what ’e’d ’ad to buy to make 
it of. But mercy! I didn’t ’ave any expectation it would 
sell! I don’t see what anyone in their senses would want of 
such a thing around the house, tickin’ that powerful you 
could hear it ’alf a block, an’ strikin’ different sorts’ bells an’ 
chimes, an’ cuckoos singin’, an’ sun an’ moon risin’ an’ settin’, 
an’ ships rockin’, an’ folks comin’ in an’ out with umbrellas, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 57 


an’ all. I don’t see how people can get any sleep with all 
them things goin’ on!” 

“Where is he, Mrs. Towse? Not here. I suppose?’ 

“Wy, just now ’e’s workin’ over to Rawlingson’s Garage 
on Westover Street. They took ’im in there to help on repair 
work, an’ as soon as ’e gets to dreamin’ they dock ’is time. 
You see, it was the on’y way to manage. But o’ course in a 
big place like Smith an’ Gaynor’s they couldn’t trouble with 
no such things.” 

Mr. Cripps learned that the elder Haworth had succumbed 
to an attack of pneumonia some five years previously, and 
that his fragile little wife had outlived him only a year and a 
half. The Smith & Gaynor people, where the elder Haworth 
had been employed so long, were more than generous, sup- 
porting Mrs. Haworth and the boy as long as she lived, 
and after her death doing everything possible to give young 
Charlie a good start as a machinist, which seemed to be the 
only line of work he wanted to undertake. They apprenticed 
him through their shops, finding that he was the master of 
every machine in the place—as well as the drafting room 
and foundry—in an incredibly short time. But when it came 

to regular employment, nothing could be done with him. His 
inability to hold his mind to the work in hand after it had 
been swept by one of his inventive brain storms was abso- 
lute. After many efforts to overcome this difficulty they 
finally had to give it up and let the young man go. 

Following that he picked up stray jobs here and there, 
handing over whatever he earned to Mrs. Towse, who 
-mothered him along, even buying his clothing for him when 
she judged that it was necessary. 


58 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Mrs. Towse had gone to the garage to get him, and the 
old gentleman waiting in the small front room felt his heart 
pounding most unusually—he couldn’t imagine why. He'd 
never set eyes on the boy. How could he be so disturbed 
over the question of the kind of boy he’d prove to be? At 
last Mrs. Towse, breathing hard, came briskly into the room, 
followed by a boyish-looking young man with a pale face 
and steady brown eyes. 

“Ere ’e is, sir! This is Charlie Haworth!” 

The two shook hands, Haworth with his serious, steady 
gaze on the older man. 

“Come now, Mrs. Towse” (from Mr. Cripps, smiling), 
“you didn’t give him his full name. You may not know it, 
Mr. Haworth, but your middle name is Michael and you owe 
it, in a certain sense, to me.” | 

The young fellow nodded slightly without taking his eyes 
off Mr. Cripps. He was a trifle above medium height and 
rather slim, with a delicate sort of face smooth shaven. 
His hair was dark but not black. He wore “jumpers” over 
his regular clothes, and his hands, notwithstanding that Mrs. 
Towse had made him wash them, were soiled with what 
would not come off. The most noticeable thing about him 
was .a sort of innocent childlikeness in the steady, serious 
gaze of his luminous brown eyes. When they were turned 
toward a person who spoke or was spoken of, they rested on 
him for some little time, giving the impression, not of staring, 
but of calmly reflecting on what he saw or what the person 
was or had been saying. 

They talked a little, Haworth answering with quiet and 
simple directness when asked about his work ana what, in 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 59 


the way of inventions, was particularly interesting him at 
the present moment. 

It proved to be what is known as a “time stamp’—a de- 
vice for printing the exact hour and minute of the day on 
workmen’s cards as they passed in and out of factories, or on 
letters and such things in offices and hotels. These machines 
must carry a movable printing mechanism that is controlled 
by clockwork. 

“Ts that a new idea?” Cripps asked. 

“No. I’m making one on a new principle, that’s all.” 

“T see—new principle. And it'll be a better one than the 
old, of course?” 

“Well, I'll like it better, anyway,” Haworth answered, with 
a shadowy smile, the first Mr. Cripps had seen on his serious 
face, and he was struck by the way it lighted it up for the 
brief time it was there. A moment of silence followed. 
Then Haworth, serious again, asked in a low voice, “Is your 
name Michael?” 

““Yes—Michael Cripps.” 

“My mother told me. She spoke of you once in a while.” 

Mr. Cripps was silent a moment, quite moved. 

“T was looking over some letters,’ he soon resumed, “and 
came across the one she wrote telling me she’d given you the 
Michael out of my name, and it—well, I had a sudden feeling 
that I—that I’d very much like to see you—and—and her too 
if such a thing had been possible.” 

Another silence, then, “Did you bring the letter ?”” Haworth 
_ asked. 3 

“Why, yes. I’ve got it over at the hotel.” He read the 
eagerness in the young man’s eyes and went on: “Perhaps 


60 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


you'll drop in there this evening. There’s that letter and 
two others. Do come. Id like to have a little chat.” 

After a few seconds, while his steady calm eyes rested on 
the old man, Haworth spoke. 

“T will,” he said. 3 

“Good,” said Mr. Cripps. And not long after—for he 
knew the value of brevity in such a case, he shook hands 
with both of them and told Haworth where he was staying. 
He went on foot the entire distance to the hotel, vastly en- 
joying a shadowy revisitation of the feeling known as tread- 
ing on air. 

The old fellow was captivated with the young one. So 
much so that a painful dread took possession of him that he 
might not be able to persuade him to leave Montreal, which 
was his home, and where, undoubtedly, all the friends he 
had were living. Young Haworth, he was certain, knew 
little about money and cared for it even less; for which rea- 
son no pecuniary advantages he (Cripps) could hold out 
would be likely to attract him. 

It was Mr. Ralph Gaynor of the Smith & Gaynor Ma- 
chine Works, who gave Mr. Cripps the most light on Ha- 
worth’s characteristics as to pecuniary matters, his genius 
for invention, and his inability to do steady work. This 
Mr. Gaynor, who was head of the works, thought young | 
Haworth was hopeless. He could learn all right. Good 
God! the boy was a marvel when it came to that! He'd 
know more about a machine inside of two days than a man 
they’d had on it for years. But when it came to steady work 
he just couldn’t do it. Not but what he tried his best, but 
his mind would get off on something else and you can’t leave 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 61 


big lathes and complicated drill presses with anybody like 
that. 

“O’ course I lit into him and gave it to him right from 
the shoulder,” Mr. Gaynor said, “but it didn’t do any good. 
Then I fired him, and he’d sure have starved if that Towse 
woman hadn’t gone on feeding him for nothing—which she 
couldn’t afford to do. Then we took him back an’ tried him 
with a helper to watch him, but even that wouldn’t work 
when he got one of his real inventing fits on him. So we had 
to give him up. Fond of the boy too, but there’s a limit.” 

“What do you think of his talent—his inventive faculty?” 

“Well, Pll tell you. There isn’t any doubt but what he’s 
got a lot in him for new mechanical methods, but he can’t 
get anywhere with it because he hasn’t got the faintest con- 
ception of what people want. And telling him’s no good. 
You might as well tell a rooster to lay eggs. Of course he 
might hit on a winner by accident. That happens with these 
dreamy chaps once in a while, but the big guns like Edison, 
Marconi, and that lot know what they’re about every minute, 
an’ what’s more they never forget it. Now you must excuse 
me. There’s a new man on that third lathe down there I’ve 
got to keep an eye on. Glad to see you. Welcome to look 
through the shop if you care for such things. Good day.” 
And Mr. Gaynor hurried out of his office. 


Mr. Cripps ran a carefully managed campaign to bring 
about the capture, as you might put it, of Charles Michael 
Haworth, and he ran it well; for there’s no denying that he 
was a man of judgment. And at once appreciating the seri- 
ous limitations on what would attract the young man, he 
came down without delay to pushing one thing—the advan- 


62 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


tage of having a shop of his own, with whatever machines 
and room he required. 

He played up to this with extreme caution, not speaking of 
it at all when Haworth called upon him that first evening, and 
only hinting at such a possibility during their next interview 
the day after. The third time they met, which was at the 
garage where Haworth was employed, he expressed curiosity 
as to whether young Haworth would care for a place where 
he could experiment and do what he pleased. 

It appeared that young Haworth would; and soon there- 
after Cripps brought in casually that, now he came to think 
of it, he had rather a good place for a shop where he lived— 
a large and airy sort of basement. Wouldn’t Haworth like 
to come along and try it, just to see how it would go? He 
needn’t stay if he didn’t like it. Just call it a visit or some- 
thing like that. He, Mr. Cripps, would be delighted to 
have him there—that is, of course, if he’d care for such a 
thing. 

The young fellow sat thinking for quite a time. Finally 
he looked up, and his eyes rested softly on old Cripps’s face 
as he asked in his quiet and serious way, “What kind of 
power could we have?” And old Cripps knew that the game 
was his. 

A small trunk held all of Haworth’s personal belongings, 
but two crates were required for the shipping of his mechani- 
cal devices that he couldn’t leave behind. 


Old Cripps was on edge for the few days following their 
arrival, fearing the boy would be disappointed or lonely, 
perhaps even homesick ; the mansion itself, now that he came 
to figure how it might affect the young man, seemed hid- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 63 


eously vast and hopelessly dismal—the huge high-ceilinged 
roonis, the empty echoing halls, the whole place gloomy and 
overcast from the great elms standing close about. 

But the young man appeared to notice nothing of all these 
things; on the contrary, he fell in quietly and easily with the 
methods and habits of the diminutive household. 

The large basement room he was to have for a shop was 
thoroughly cleaned and double flooring laid. It was ceiled 
and painted white; electric lights were installed, and an 
electric motor for power. Old Cripps had a mechanical ex- 
pert come out to go over with Haworth the matter of the 
various machines and apparatus required, and insisted that 
every one of them must be of the best and most modern 
type. A lathe, a shaper, two drill presses, and an emery 
wheel were put in at the time; some months later another 
lathe for larger work was added. Also there was a bench 
with vises, and all the small tools and accessories necessary 
to complete a machine shop. 

Opening off the main room was a smaller one with the 
fittings for a drafting room, and a large rough-boarded-off 
space in the ell of the basement was cleared out for the 
finished machines and inventions and working models that 
Haworth desired to store there. These came from Mon- 
treal (after infinite trouble with the customs) and were set 
up in this place. Altogether the little plant was quite com- 
plete in all important particulars, and thereafter it was 
always delightful to Mr. Cripps to add to its equipment at 
_ the slightest hint from Haworth. For the old man was more 
and more taken with the young one as the days went by. 
Haworth’s gentle and charming personality, his quiet sin- 


64 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


cerity and straightforwardness, were singularly appealing. 
But added to this for old Cripps was the effect of the vast 
contrast between this clean, simple-minded, almost childlike 
young fellow and the dissolute loafer of a nephew he had so 
long endured. 

It was an odd little household, the two composing it differ 
ing so greatly in their ages, tastes, and temperaments, yet 
living in that vast and gloomy mansion in perfect harmony 
and content, neither of them saying much, yet thoroughly 
enjoying each other’s company. 

Mr. Cripps became intensely interested in the young fel- 
low’s work, too, appreciating enthusiastically the extraordi- 
nary ingenuity of his devices and altogether overlooking the 
drawback which they invariably seemed to have of not being 
in the line of popular demand. He had application made— 
in Haworth’s name of course—for patents on several of the 
most important. And when notice came from Washington 
that patents had been allowed, the old gentleman fell to danc- 
ing and prancing about like a rheumatic schoolboy, Haworth 
standing silent but smiling serenely at him as he careened 
ponderously about the room. 


They had three years and four months of this life together, 
and then the summons came for the old man. Some sort of 
stroke, I think; but no matter—it did for him. Not at once, 
but the next thing to it. A couple of days or thereabouts. 
He tried to tell Haworth something about the property be- 
fore he went, but couldn’t manage it. The young man sat 
silent and looked at him wide-eyed like some timid animal, 
distressed and fearful. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 65 


Everything was left to Haworth. This included the house 
and grounds—on which there was a mortgage—and a few 
thousand dollars in the bank, doubtless the remnant of the 
money so obtained. That was all, of value. Quite an enor- 
mous lot of worthless stocks, mostly pune, were found in 
his safe-deposit boxes. 

Henry P. Trescott, who had been old Cripps’s legal ad- 
viser, attended to matters connected with the will, and if it 
hadn’t been for his suggestions Haworth would never have 
thought of cutting down the expenses of the establishment. 
He did what Trescott advised—discharged all the servants 
except the cook and one maid, closed the entire north side 
of the house, and had the telephones and more than half 
the electric-light bulbs removed. It isn’t likely Haworth 
would have consented to these economies but for Trescott’s 
assurance that if he didn’t it would be but a brief time 
before he’d have to give up the house and all that it con- 
tained. The lawyer at first advised selling the place, but 
to that Haworth wouldn’t agree. The house itself didn’t 
matter so much—it was the shop and all his things down 
there, and the quiet surroundings. 

Trescott also looked over Haworth’s work and occasionally 
sent out people who might be interested. But no one was. 
And after a time the young inventor grew to dislike having 
people come, knowing so well that they’d go away again 
with awkward regrets for having troubled him. One day 
when a caller was announced, he sent word by the maid that 
he was busy and couldn’t see anyone. The result was so 
gratifying that soon he came to rely on this expedient alto- 
gether. Thereafter he led a perfectly quiet and uninter- 
rupted existence, devoting himself to the work he loved, 


66 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


undisturbed by events of any kind. The loss of his generous 
and sympathetic companion had affected him deeply, and 
often he was beset with an aching loneliness. But always 
he could retreat into the safe sanctuary of mechanics—the 
perfect absorption in his inventive pursuits—where loneliness 
and grief were successfully held at bay. 

His time was mostly spent in his shop or drafting room, 
but he liked to walk when there were problems on his mind. 
He had certain places for certain kinds of problems: along 
a near-by section of railroad track, for one; a lonely little 
path in a patch of woods and weeds and bushes about a mile 
down the road, for another, and so on. Franklin Park 
wouldn’t do at all, for he was likely to meet people there; as 
to that, so would he on the railroad, but there it would only 
be men, and the sort he didn’t mind—working chaps, ma- 
chinists, engineers, switchmen, and trainmen on the way 
to work or home from it. 


PART IV 


ONE late April afternoon—a chilly dismal day it had been, 
with a drizzle of rain—the maid knocked at his work- 
room door, and when he’d shut down the power on the drill 
he was using, she told him a lady and gentleman were at the 
door asking to see him, and they didn’t give any name. 

“Busy, he answered mechanically, and was turning back 
to his work. 

“Excuse me sir, but the gentleman said, though you 
wouldn’t know him, he’s a near relative of old Mr. Cripps as 
used to live here.” 

“Oh!” (Long pause.) “Relative.” 

Aves sit.” 

“Lady with him, you say?” 

“Yes sir, there is.” This maid, whose name was Hulda, 
had been there only a few weeks. 

After a long consideration of the matter, turning it this 
way and that in his mind, Haworth abandoned hope of find- 
ing some way out of it, and told the maid to show them into 
the hall and say he’d come soon. He got out of his jumpers, 
washed his hands, and went upstairs. 

Both the man and woman rose as he came toward them 
from the rear hall. The man stepped forward a little. 

“Mr. Haworth?” 

eS 

“It’s very kind of you to see us, but perhaps you wouldn’t 


67 


68 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


have done it if I’d sent in my name. I thought it was only 
right to give me a chance to explain.” 

Haworth’s calm brown-eyed gaze was upon the man. “Ex- 
plain what?” he asked, softly—almost timidly. 

“You'll know well enough when I tell you that I’m Au- 
gustus Findlay. ... Yes, I’m Augustus Findlay,” he re- 
peated, as the first announcement of the fact appeared not 
to have produced the effect expected, “an’ I’m not ashamed 
to own it!” 

“What did you want to see me about?” 

“That’s just what I expected! Just it, by God! It’s what 
I looked for, to be treated as a stranger!” And turning to 
his companion who was standing a little back of him, 
“Didn’t I tell you how it would ber” And to Haworth: “Of 
course the old man poisoned your mind against me. What 
else could you expect? He never had a kind word for me, 
Mr. Haworth—not one! It was pure animosity and hatred 
—and he my uncle, too!” 

Haworth regarded him calmly for a moment. 

“Who is your uncle?” he finally asked. 

“Aw, what’s the good o’ pretending you don’t know who 
I mean! Pretty rank that is, if you ask me!” 

And then, as Haworth said nothing in the pause allotted 
to him, he went on in a loud and blatant tone: “It’s old man 
Cripps I’m talking about—the one you’ve been living with 
for the last three or four years until he died and left you all 
his money—an’ this place along with it, I suppose!” 

“T’m sorry,’ Haworth murmured. And then, after a pause, 
“Did he know about you?” 

“Know about me!’ Findlay turned back to the young 
woman with a bitter laugh. “That’s pretty neat now, isn’t 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 69 


it? ... Why,” (to Haworth) “I lived here in the house 
with him all my life until just before you came along! All 
my life by God!’ 

“And—you went away then ?” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly—I didn’t so much You ain’t 
kiddin’ me, are you? Didn’t he ever tell you about it?” 

Haworth shook his head slightly. 

“Well” (turning to his companion) “can you beat that? 
The old man was Oh, I beg your pardon! This is my 
wife, Edith. Mr. Haworth—Mr. Charles Haworth, I be- 
lieve it is!’ The girl—for she was only that—put out her 
hand timidly and Haworth took it. 

“Now we haven’t come here as beggars, Mr. Haworth. I 
said to Edith we’d never do a thing like that. Didn’t I say 
it?’ turning to his girlish wife. 

She shook her head almost imperceptibly and glanced down 
in evident distress. 

“No, I should think not!’ He, in a measure, answering 
for her. “Don’t run away with the idea we’re that kind! 
Never more mistaken in your life!” And Findlay went on, 
becoming rather loud about it. “Far from it! We're not 
that sort! But I'll say this much, Mr. Haworth,—that mat- 
ters haven’t gone right with us for some little time. No, 
they haven’t, and that’s a fact! We've certainly been up 
against it at every turn of the cards and we're pretty close 
to being up against it now.” 

Haworth’s eyes were steadily on Augustus as he talked. 
Only once did they shift for an instant to the girl. 

“Now I wouldn’t go to any stranger,” Findlay went on; 
“no, not even to an ordinary friend you know,—for—ah— 
for advice at such a time. But I lived here all my life, an’ 


70 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


owing to blind prejudice an’ slander—that’s what it was, 
Mr. Haworth—I lost out on the will. Everything went to 
you. God knows I don’t complain of that! But in a time 
of trouble like this it seems only proper and decent to come 
to you for advice.” : 

Haworth spoke after a little pause. “Advice?” (Almost 
in a whisper). 

“Yes, Mr. Haworth, that’s what I want! I need some one 
to tell me what to do, for I don’t know which way to turn. 
Of course, if out of the fullness of your heart you can—help 
us a little—just till I get on my feet e 

He broke off to give Haworth a chance to say something, 
but the young inventor did not speak. 

“Why it’s as bad as this, Mr. Haworth, though I hate like 
hell to tell you! We haven’t actually—we haven’t actually 
any idea where we're going to sleep to-night! That’s God’s 
truth!” 

“There’s plenty of room here,’ Haworth murmured in a 
low voice. 

“Why, but you I—I’d no idea of such a 
dear, do you hear that?” 

The girl smiled a little doubtfully, and looked at Haworth. 

Augustus went right along piling words on top of Ha- 
worth’s implied offer as if hoping to bury it so deep it 
couldn’t be withdrawn. 

“My God! but that’s a great relief! You’ve no idea! It’s 
certainly splendid of you, Mr. Haworth! You really mean 
we can put up here with you for a bit? Wouldn’t make you 
trouble for the world or impose on your kindness, but if—if 
you can manage it—just till I get on my feet again—lI can’t 
tell how much—how i 


Edith 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 71 


“Come upstairs,’ Haworth said, “and see which room 
you'd like.” He led the way to the floor above. 

The large room at the front of the house on the south side 
(the north side wasn’t in use, you'll remember) was finally 
decided upon for the Findlays. Haworth occupied a smaller 
one quite a distance back on the same corridor. There were 
several rooms and two or three bathrooms between. 

_ When they came down he took them into the living room— 
that is to say, the room he used as such. It was a vast 
panelled apartment with a marble mantel and fireplace, and 
had been the dining room back in the old Cripps days. 
The chamber chosen by Augustus for the use of his wife 
and himself was directly above the front part of it. 

Findlay now began a long recital of his misfortunes, tell- 
ing with acrimony how he’d lost this position and that, 
always through no fault of his own. Now and then he 
managed to bring in references to his uncle, all tending to 
impress one with the idea that he had been most unjustly 
treated. 

Haworth’s steady gaze, not for an instant leaving his face 
as he talked on, began to disturb Augustus. It gave him the 
feeling of being under calm and critical observation—which, 
in fact, he was. So before he’d gone far in his pathetic nar- 
tative he began to stumble about and lose track of what he 
was saying, and finally he rose suddenly, announcing that 
he’d completely forgotten about their trunks, which were at 
the South Station—for it seemed they had come in from 
somewhere—and he’d go and bring them out if Mr. Haworth 

didn’t mind. 

Mr. Haworth didn’t mind at all and said so, and Findlay 
got his coat and haf and was just going out of the front door 


72 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


when he suddenly stopped, remembering something. Then 
he called back into the room asking Haworth if he could 
come out there just a moment—he’d like to speak to him. 

“Awfully sorry, old chap,” he said in a carefully lowered 
voice when they were at the door together, “but could you— 
ah You see I—I’m ashamed to say I haven’t got 
enough to pay an expressman. If I can once get the trunks 
out here we'll be all right—if you don’t mind giving me a 
bit of a loan for that.” 

“T see,” said Haworth, and he turned and went upstairs. 

The moment he was out of sight Augustus stepped quickly 
to the door of the living room, and putting his head in, 
spoke to his wife in a sharp half whisper: “No monkey busi- 
ness now! If you give away anything you'll be sorry for 
it!” And hearing steps near the top of the stairs he was 
instantly back at the front door again, waiting. 

Haworth came down with a ten-dollar bill which he 
handed to Findlay, and the latter thanked him effusively 
and left the house. Haworth stood for a moment in thought, 
then went back into the living room, Edith Findlay looked 
up at him as he came in, and he stopped with his eyes on 
her, seeing that she was going to speak. 

But it seemed hard for her to do so. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she finally said in a sort of breathless 
whisper. 

He thought it over and then said, ‘Why ?” 

“T didn’t want to come—lI tried to stop him.” Her voice 
had a soft huskiness that was strangely appealing. Her 
glance flitted painfully about the room, and she turned to 
him again. 

“Tt’ll be so terrible for you!” 


Po SOD cou ALE yal) Raa MNS a naa an a 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD Ca ae 


“You needn’t worry about me,” he said quietly, his eyes 
resting softly on her face. 

“T can’t help it. I No!” She suddenly stood up. 
“We mustn’t stay, Mr. Haworth. I'll find him and tell 
him so!” | 

“Don’t do that,” he said. 

“Oh, but I Mr. Haworth you—you don’t under- 
stand!” 

“Not very well,—but you'll tell me I hope... . No,— 
sit down first—this chair.” And as he moved nearer she 
sank into the old upholstered chair he indicated. 

“Where could you go?” he asked as he stood before her. 

“Oh ”” She waved her hand as if such a matter was 
of no consequence. ‘“That’s—that’s nothing!” 

“Nothing for him perhaps, but ——”’ He broke off, look- 

ing down into her upturned eyes. 
A little spasmodic shiver passed over her. Haworth 
stepped quickly to the fireplace where wood and kindlings 
were ready laid. He knelt there, lighting a match and hold- 
ing it to the shavings and small splinters. 

She seemed somehow like a child, sitting there so small and 
demure in the big armchair. A child in distress, for from 
her face you’d hardly think she’d had any sleep for a week, 
and her dress was pitifully worn and shabby. 

As Haworth was kneeling at the fireplace he turned to ask 
her something. The quick flaming of the shavings and small 
stuff threw a bright light on her poor little run-over shoes. 
He stopped motionless looking at them, then leaned over 
_ without getting to his feet and touched one. At once he rose 
and walked around behind her chair, which he pushed and 
turned until her feet were as near the fire as he thought 


74 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


would do. Then he pushed an electric button near the door. 

“You may not know it,” he said as he stood waiting, “but 
you're going to drink some hot tea—something near two 
hundred and twelve in the shade. Also, you’re going to have 
dry things for your feet, even if you have to shuffle about in 
something of mine!” | 

The maid came and he told her to make tea—the hottest 
kind she ever heard of—and to bring things with it—toast 
or whatever it was—she knew. Then he went on to ask 
what she could do about footwear for Mrs. Findlay, who 
was cold and wet and also very tired; and wouldn’t Hulda 
please take charge of her and arrange things satisfactorily? 

Hulda said she thought she could manage if the lady 
wouldn’t mind wearing some of her things, and Haworth 
said he was sure she wouldn’t—and over his shoulder toward 
Edith, “You wouldn’t, would you?” And he saw the top 
of her little round hat above the back of the chair shaking 
slightly for “no” and heard a very faint sniffle, and told 
Hulda it would be all right. Upon which the maid departed 
to attend to everything. 

Haworth stood uncertain a moment, for the first sniffle 
had alarmed him, as he realized that he wouldn’t have an 
idea what to do if Mrs. Findlay was actually crying. He 
earnestly hoped she wasn’t, yet had a fairly trustworthy intu- 
ition that such a thing was at that moment transpiring ; and 
it occurred to him that if this was so, the correct and possi- 
bly even the noble behavior might be to go away and leave 
her. On the other hand, something might be seriously the 
matter, and probably was, otherwise why should such a thing 
be going on? 

This latter seemed the most sensible view, and on arriving 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 75 


at it he went over very quietly and stood by the marble man- 
tel, which brought him quite near and almost in front of her. 

She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief every now 
and then, and as the firelight flickered on the hand that was 
doing it, he couldn’t help seeing that it was a perfect dear 
of a little hand. He didn’t understand how he could be 
thinking of this at such a time, when she was in evident dis- 
tress; but for a moment he couldn’t think of anything else. 
And the diminutive wad of crumpled handkerchief,—also 
the wet and worn-out little shoes, appealed to him in some 
peculiar way that brought on, deep down in his system, an 
almost unbearable ache. 3 

Suddenly she looked up at him. 

“Do you know what I ought to do?” 

He shook his head as he stood looking down at ner. 

“T ought to run out of the house this—this very instant.” 

She glanced anxiously about as if meditating flight, which, 
in fact, she was. 

“What for?” Haworth asked. 

“For you,” she said. 

The shadow of a smile passed over Haworth’s face. 

“That wouldn’t do me any good.” 

“Oh, it would—it would!” she cried out. “Because our 
being here is going to—to ” She was unable to go on. 

“What is it going to do?” he finally asked. 

She looked at him steadily for a moment, and then shook 
her head a little, but did not speak. 

“Please tell me this: Is it true that your husband 1s Mr. 
- Cripps’s nephew ?” : 
“Ves, Mr. Haworth.” 
“Then, even though it’s going to be so terrible, I’d rather 


76 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


have him stay. Mr. Cripps never said anything about having 
a nephew. I’m afraid there was some injustice done.” 

Edith was looking up in his face, and there was something 
about it that he simply couldn’t stand. The only alternative 
seemed to be to go somewhere else as soon as he possibly 
could. Acting on this idea, he made a considerable effort 
and got his eyes away from her, and spoke quickly and mum- 
blingly, addressing the floor. 

“You know Hulda, the one you saw just now—she was 
here i | 

“Yes, I saw her.” 

“That’s the one. Well, she'll take care of everything 
—tea, you know—and dry—and warm—and—your room— 
and—yes.”’ 

He turned and walked rapidly past Edith and out of the 
room by one of the rear doors, thence through a back hall and 
down the basement stairs, making thus an instinctive retreat 
to his machine shop, the mechanical panacea for all his then- 
tal disturbances. At least he had found it so up to now. 


Leaving Edith Findlay entirely in Hulda’s hands was pre- 
cisely the effective way for getting results, though no thought 
of it as such entered Haworth’s mind. ‘The maid, a neat, 
blue-eyed young woman of Scandinavian origin, was greatly 
pleased at being allowed to take entire charge of Mrs. Find- 
lay, and proceeded to do so with enthusiasm. She brought 
the poor child (that’s what Edith Findlay seemed to her) 
hot tea and hot toast and thin sandwiches, and had her in 
dry stockings and warm slippers before anyone—provided 
only that he stammered badly—could have said “Jack Robin- 
son.” At once after that she had an open fire burning in 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD ay 


the room above and the covers of the furniture off and 
thorough sweeping and dusting done. Then she returned to 
Edith, and gave it as her opinion that the thing for her to 
do was to go to bed and rest herself. So positive was Hulda 
of the benefits to be derived from “just a few winks, Mrs. 
Findlay,” that Edith was swept to the room on the wave of 
her enthusiasm on the subject, and put snugly to bed. 

But weary as she was, the realization of what must surely 
happen when Augustus returned, kept her in a condition of 
worried wakefulness. She knew so well what the interview 
at the door meant. He had got money from Mr. Haworth. 
There was no question in her mind as to what he would do 
with it, and, as a result, in what condition he would return 
to the house at two or three in the morning. If it could only 
be that he could come in and get to bed and to sleep without 
creating a terrifying disturbance, she would consider it serene 
and heavenly rest compared to what was to be expected, for 
he had reached the condition where alcohol came near to 
making a maniac of him. Shouts and curses and horrible 
songs; the throwing about of whatever came to his hand; 
the threatening of her, sometimes with a revolver—an enor- 
mous thing which he insisted on keeping under his pillow— 
all this was to be expected if he had money enough to buy 
drinks. And if Mr. Haworth had given him anything it was 
enough, for there were no trunks to spend it on; all that was 
pure fiction. Everything they owned had gone to the pawn- 
shops long ago. 

As it happened, however, her anxiety as to the home-com- 
ing of Augustus was misplaced. It should have been applied 
to future occasions. Findlay came in at a quarter before 


78 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


seven, a trifle electrified, to be sure, but not to a voltage that 
was shocking. 

The three sat down to dinner in what had once been the 
breakfast room—opening off the present living room at its 
rear end, opposite the swing door of the butler’s pantry. It 
was, for that house, a rather small, cheerful place with a big — 
bay window on the south side. 

At this meal Augustus conversed with himself brilliantly. 
Haworth said little, but looked smilingly on in his detached 
way. Edith, who said hardly anything, stole an occasional 
glance at him. Hulda waited on them. A cat came in from 
somewhere.and entered pleas for refreshments,—not in vain. 

When dinner was over the three went back to the large 
room, Haworth sitting there with his guests for half an hour 
or so; then, excusing himself, and telling them that break- 
fast was whenever they asked for it (he remembered old 
Cripps used to tell his visitors that), he went down to his 
shop in the basement. 

He had an unusual experience there—something quite un- 
expected for him. He found that, for some reason, he was 
utterly unable to keep his mind on his work—work which 
had always so completely engrossed him that he had often 
found it impossible, when he ought to have done so, to keep 
his mind away from it. 

He had begun on the first rough draft of a problem that 
had been on his mind for days, and only that morning he had 
got it. Consequently he was more than eager to get it down 
on paper. But again and again after he had started on the 
sketch, he would suddenly rouse himself to find that he was 
sitting with pencil poised, doing nothing. He would seem to 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 79 


wake up from something and find himself in this extraordi- 
nary situation. 

On making a startled inquiry of himself as to the cause of 
this unusual phenomenon, he realized at once that the chief 
trouble—or at least the chief diversion—was a pair of the 
most exquisite hands, though sometimes two tired little feet 
in worn-out shoes would share the guilt ; and even an appeal- 
ing face with dark troubled eyes looking up at him was now 
and again responsible. But why shouldn’t he have his guests 
on his mind? It was a most astonishing affair, this coming 
of Mr. Cripps’s nephew and his wife. Probably this 
accounted for everything. 

Finally, after a couple of hours of useless effort, he gave 
up the struggle and allowed his thoughts to dwell in peace on 
Edith Findlay. He went over and over in his mind every- 
thing she had said or done and looked. What a pathetic and 
helpless little figure! And there was her husband—a most 
objectionable sort of thing. Most likely that was the trou- 
ble—something wrong with him. Liquor—drugs—it might 
be anything. Think of the fellow not bringing the trunks out 
with him, knowing his wife had nothing! He would see to 
it himself in the morning. Yet how wonderfully she had 
managed to transform herself in some way—her hair so 
becomingly arranged. Really, it was extraordinary. Per- 
haps Hulda had lent her some of the things. And now he 
thought of it, how nice it was of Hulda to take such an inter- 
est. He hadn’t really appreciated her before. 

After a time it occurred to him that he ought to go up 
and see if there was anything he could do to make his guests, 
in the absence of their trunks, more comfortable for the 


80 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


night. Yes, it certainly was his duty as host to do what he 
could. | 

On reaching the living room, however, he found that 
they’d gone upstairs, so he stood awhile looking at the chair 
one of them had been sitting in, and remembering how she 
had looked up at him when he rolled that same chair, with 
her in it, close up to the fire. From that he went on to recall 
other things and to run the pictures over and over again in 
his mind. Finally, when he came to himself, it was very late 
indeed. 


Haworth was an early riser, and the next morning Hulda, 
hearing him in his machine shop in the basement, took him 
down a pot of coffee with toast and a cereal, as she always 
did when he went down there before breakfast; for if he 
once got absorbed in his work the idea of coming up would 
never occur to him. She found him at his drawing board, 
apparently considering something very carefully before get- 
ting it down on paper. Hearing her come in, he roused him- 
self and looked up blankly. 

“Your coffee, sir,’ she said; and placed the tray within his 
reach. 

He thanked her and at once poured out some, for he’d 
been sitting there most of the night and felt the need of it, 
now the matter was brought to his attention. 

As the maid was going out he stopped her with, “Oh, 
Hulda! It was—it was good of you to take care of Mrs. 
Findlay so—so nicely.” | 

“T was glad to, sir,” she responded after an instant of sur- 
prise, for Mr. Haworth so seldom noticed anything. “Indeed 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 81 


I was, sir, for she’s a sweet little body. If you’ll excuse me 
saying it, it must be awful for ’er with that man.” 

Haworth turned, surprised, and looked at the maid. 

“What do you know about him?” he asked. 

“Well, I—I can see ’im, sir, an’ that’s something!’ 

Haworth was silent. 

“‘And besides, cook tells me the cook before her was saying 
things about a terrible ,person used to live here, until one 
day in the middle of the night ole Mr. Cripps threw ’im out 
o’ the house an’ kicked ’im down the front steps; an’ when I 
was putting towels in their bathroom yesterday I heard ’im 
telling ’er how different things was when ’e lived here, so I 
can’t but think it’s ’im.” 

Haworth looked silently at her for a moment and then 
_ said: “Yes. Well, tell me when they’ve finished breakfast. 
I want to see them about their trunks.” 

Some two hours later the maid came down and told him. 
But when he went upstairs Augustus had left the house and 
Mrs. Findlay had gone to her room. Haworth went up and _ 
knocked at the door. She opened it. 

“Oh!” she said with a little gasp. “I was afraid you were 
angry!” 

“Angry ?” an 
“Yes.” She was looking down, but soon raised her eyes 
to his. Suddenly she thought of the disordered room and 
stepped out into the hallway beside him, closing the door 

after her. 

“What made you think so?” he asked, after his eyes had 
- rested on her in silence a moment. 

“You didn’t come to breakfast at all!” 
“Oh, that!’ Haworth smiled. “I nearly always don’t.” 


82 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Don’t you have any?” 

“Yes, but when I’m down working Hulda brings it to me.” 

“Oh!’”? She seemed relieved. “I was afraid it was be- 
cause you—because we were here.” 

He shook his head a little and muttered, “No.” 

“Tt’ll be so some time,” she said, scarcely above a whisper. 

“You’re mistaken about that,” he told her gently. 

She looked at him with eyes showing gratitude, yet with it 
the painful conviction that she was right. 

“Did Mr. Findlay take the checks with him?” he asked. 

She looked at him, not understanding. 

“The checks for the trunks,” he explained. 

“Oh! No, he—he didn’t!” 

“There’s a truckman over at Jamaica Plain,’ Haworth 
said. “He often hauls for me—that is, he used to. He'll 
have the trunks here by noon. So if you'll give the 
checks f | 

“I—I don’t know where they She stopped for an 
instant, then turned and looked him in the face. “There 
aren’t any checks,” she said in a low voice. 

Haworth was silent, his calm gaze upon her. 

“There aren’t any checks—or trunks—or anything!” Hav- 
ing made this sweeping confession, she stood guiltily before 
him as though she’d acknowledged complicity in a bank rob- 
bery. 

“But you have some things—somewhere!”’ he finally asked 
in a gentle voice, trying not to hurt her. 

She shook her head a little without looking up. “You 
see—you see, we did have some trunks. We had them— 
but ft 

“Yes yes, I know,” he said softly, his hand touching her 


33 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 83 


shoulder in sympathy for an instant. “It’s a tough thing for 
you, iosing everything like that, but it’s simply wonderful for 
me! Yes, it is,” (seeing her look of amazement) “for it 
gives me the chance to do something that I—that I like doing 
so very much indeed!” 

“I’m afraid I don’t exactly What is it?” 

“Why—why nothing at all, only to get you a few little 
things you'll need. Hulda can do it; we'll leave it all to her. 

. And then you’ll be wearing something that I 

He stopped, seeing that Edith had turned away and was 
fumbling with the door knob. 

“But Mrs. Findlay,” he said, quickly, “I didn’t mean to— 
won't you please ” 

But she was shaking her head as she finally got the door 
_ open, and he heard an indistinct, “No 
fied blindly through it into her room, closing it quickly 
after her. 

Haworth stood motionless before the door—which had 
almost been shut in his face, and a great fear nearly stopped 
his heart from beating—the fear that she was angry with 
him. 

After standing some time quite unable to figure it out, he 
suddenly thought of Hulda, and hurrying down to the room 
on the left, rang the bell; after which he waited in a state of 
near-panic till she came. 

“Hulda,” he said the instant she appeared, “I’ve offended 
Mrs. Findlay seriously! Yes, I’m afraid I have! Do you 
know anything that could be done?” 

“What makes you think it, sir? Did she say Nav thinn ra 
_ “No—not exactly; but while I was talking to her she 

turned and ran into her room and shut the door.” 


I can’t!” as she 


84 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“What were you saying to ’er, Mr. Haworth? That 
might be it.” 

“Tt couldn’t be! I was only telling her that I was going 
to have you get her some things fee wear you know—be- 
cause all their trunks are lost, you see.’ 

“T don’t think she’s angry.”’ Hulda had a smile concen 
somewhere. “It’s most likely just feelings, sir.” 

“Feelings ?” 

“Yes sir—about you being that kind to ’er, I’d say.” 

“Are you quite sure that was all?” 

“Indeed I am, sir, but when she’s had a little time I’ll go 
up and see te the room—they got up so late it isn’t done yet— 
an’ then I’ll hear what she says.” 

“Yes, do that! And if it ts so—as you think—and there’s 
no trouble of any kind, I want you to go to town with her 
as soon as you can and help about getting the things.” : 

“Yes sir. An’ what was you thinking of getting?” 

“Oh yes. Well you'd know that, wouldn’t you? Things 
to wear, of course—dresses and—and—and so on. She must 
have things to use, too—brushes and combs and shaving 
soap—no, other soap, I mean—and hair things—you know, 
to hold it up and all that. Get whatever there is, Hulda; she 
hasn’t anything at all. That makes it quite simple, doesn’t 
oh 

“Yes sir; she wants to be fitted out.” 

“That’s it—fitted out! And oh, there’s one thing—yes, 
shoes. Be very careful about that, Hulda! I want her to 
have some perfectly delightful shoes—the nicest you can get, 
and quite a lot of them—all she can use. And oh, another 
thing—gloves. Quite extraordinary gloves! Don’t forget 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 85 


those two things, Hulda—shoes—gloves. They’re really the 
most important of all!” 

“T’ll do my best, sir.” 

“And about the dresses—several different varieties—all of 
them the most satisfactory in every respect. And then—get 
the—the—” (making motions up and down his body to illus- 
trate) “underthings, you know. Don’t fail to have them the 
nicest that are made. I’m sure this is a very important—er— 
phase of the matter.” 

“Yes sir, it is.” 

“And hats—of course she'll need a few of those. And 
some fur things—don’t fail to get some fur things. She was 
shivering yesterday.” 

“T’ll do the best I can, Mr. Haworth, but wouldn’t it be 
better to buy easy at first? Say, to-day a ready-made dress 
or two an’ a pair o’ shoes an’ a few things, an’ let the rest 
come gradual? I’m only thinking of ’er feelings as not being 
equal to it if all the things was to come at a jump, as one 
might say.” 

“That’s perfectly true. Her feelings must be treated with 
the greatest care!” He glanced at the stairway through the 
open door. 

“Tl go upstairs now, sir; but I’m sure you needn’t to feel 
- uneasy about it.” 

And Hulda went up the stairway and a moment later could 
be heard gently knocking at Mrs. Findlay’s door. 

When he finally heard Hulda coming down again his heart 
_ pounded so violently that he was sure it shook him. A me- 
chanical notion flashed in his mind that his pumping plant 
was too powerful for the frame. He found himself, too, 


86 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


hardly able to turn and face the maid when she came to the 
door. 

“Tt’s all right, sir,” she said. “An’ we'll be going in as 
soon as | finish the rooms. ant if you please, sir, she’d like 
to speak to you before we go.” 

The relief was unspeakable. She wasn’t angry or offended! 
And she’d wear things that he gave her. 

So everything was arranged and Haworth gave Hulda 
enough money for the first day, not noticing or thinking for 
an instant that he was making an ugly excavation in what 
was supposed to carry him on for a year. When the maid 
had gone for her hat and cloak, Haworth waited about in 
the hall. At last he heard Edith coming down and went to 
meet her at the foot of the stairs. 

Seeing him, she stopped before she was quite down. The 
thought came to him that he wished she could stay there—on 
the stairs—a little above him—instead of going to town. 
Couldn’t that, perhaps, be put off until the next day? Her 
voice, slightly tremulous, uote his meditations. 

“I’m awfully sorry I acted so,” was what she said. “Please 
forgive me.” 

He looked up in her face, drinking in with his eyes some- 
thing indescribable and inconceivable that came to him from 
hers. 

“T’'ll be so glad,” she went on after the briefest pause, “to 
” suddenly putting out her hand, 


wear anything that you 
“oh, you’re so kind!” 
It was incredible! At this time yesterday he had been un- 
aware that she existed; now he was unaware that anything 
else did. But there was hardly time to realize it before the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 87 


hand was gone and she was moving toward the door; and 
very soon Hulda came and the two went off together. 

Haworth stood in the doorway and watched them go down 
the great stone steps and along the curved drive to Torring- 
ton Road. Then he came slowly in, closed the door, and 
stood thinking—or rather, remembering. Not one word had 
he said to her since she came down. Going over every small- 
est detail of what had occurred, he couldn’t find any place 
where he had said anything. But why should he? There 
didn’t seem to be anything to say. As a matter of fact he 
had no idea at all of what had happened to him. 

From this you'll understand why he had no slightest sense 
of guilt or trespass. It didn’t disturb him when Findlay came 
back from the city and borrowed twenty dollars—an amount, 
he told Haworth, that would enable him to take advantage of 
an extraordinary business opportunity which had presented 
itself. 


Hulda brought Mrs. Findlay and a large number of pack- 
ages home in a taxi about a quarter before five. Haworth 
was down in his workshop, where he managed, by the exer- 
_ tion of enormous will power, to do a few little pieces of 
manual labor on one of the lathes. His being unable to con- 
centrate on his work had worried him quite a bit. But 
although he was entirely aware that Edith was tremendously 
attractive to him in many ways, it did not occur to him to 
connect that circumstance with what seemed to him a failing 
intellect so far as mechanics was concerned. 

Hulda descended to the basement to report to Haworth on 
the shopping tour, which had resulted in not only what they 


88 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


had brought home, but several articles that were to be fitted 
later. 

“Tell me what you did about the shoes ?”’ he inquired, with- 
out the least effort to conceal his eagerness for information 
on that subject. 

“Oh yes, sir! There’s lovely ones for the house an’ two 
kinds for the street, that’s most beautiful on ’er. Wait till 
you see ’em, sir!” 

“T will,’ said Haworth, and went on with his screw-cut- 
ting at the lathe, though his mind had absented itself entirely 
from mechanical pursuits. Fortunately the process was 
largely automatic, so no serious damage was done. 

At half-past six he went to his room and got into a fairly 
good suit of clothes. He’d never given anything that could 
be called “thought” to what he wore, further than to have it 
clean, and so far as possible not torn or otherwise mutilated. 
Old Mr. Cripps, during the time the two were living to- 
gether, had frequently taken him to his own tailor and 
ordered clothing for him in a most generous way. Since the 
old man’s death, however, Haworth had been to that place 
only once, on which occasion he had asked them to make 
him two suits, one thin, the other thick. But when they be- 
gan to unroll the vast cylinders of “imported goods’ before 
him, he had started for the door, muttering quite audibly 
that it was their business to find the stuff to make them of, 
not his. 

Edith came down in a charming slip of a dress they'd 
found. It had needed no alteration, so she could have it for 
that evening. 

Haworth, waiting in the living room, fixed his eyes on her 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 89 


in calm astonishment. He would hardly have known her. 
It wasn’t the dress alone, but everything, including herself. 

She found herself standing still just inside the door, his 
steadfast gaze of amazement and admiration acting like an 
automatic signal set against her. 

“Please sit here,” he said, after a moment of regarding her 
in silence, and indicating the big chair she’d been sitting in 
the day before when he lighted the fire. 

She looked up at him from the depths of the chair with 
wide-eyed questioning. 

After he’d stood looking at her a moment or two with a 
peculiar expression, he said, suddenly: “Come along—let’s 
have dinner!” | 

And she never got the answer—anyway not then—to her 
optical interrogation points, Which was, that he wanted to 
see her feet in their ravishing new slippers, just where he’d 
seen them the day before in the poor little worn and down- 
trodden shoes. 

And there they were, these two by themselves, at dinner. 
Mr. Augustus Findlay, running true to form (about the only 
thing to which he did), failed to put in an appearance. He 
was otherwise engaged in low-lived haunts, with a twenty- 
dollar bill. 

And there they were again, these two, sitting by the fire in 
the evening, quietly talking and occasionally silent for a 
space ; going down to see his shop; then each apparently read- 
ing a book—though neither of them read a single word. And 
so it went on for a number of days. 

Everything seemed to be against them—pushing them 
toward the edge of the precipice. Even the maid Hulda, 
who must have seen the danger, was assisting their approach 


go THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


to it instead of trying to hold them back; for which ques- 
tionable behavior her opinion of Mr. Findlay was largely 
responsible, her sympathetic attitude toward what is roughly 
referred to as “romance” perhaps accounting for the rest. 


But something shortly happened that not only showed them 
where they were going, but flashed them an idea of the dis- 
tance they’d gone. 

It was the night of the ninth day after the Findlays had 
arrived at the mansion. Augustus during this time, had 
made what were, for him, supreme efforts to control himself, 
knowing very well that a great deal depended on it. He and 
his wife had been taken in and provided with a home free of 
cost and containing among its other furniture a soft-hearted 
boob out of whom he could apparently squeeze what money 
he needed, if he was careful to handle it right. Haworth 
was certainly an utter fool, but even at that he might be 
troublesome if once aroused. Though by no means of pow- 
erful build, he was a bit too husky to take a chance on. 

For a while Findlay managed to avoid displays of himself 
that would be positively objectionable. But as these nine 
days wore on he seemed to be losing his grip on himself, 
such as it was. He was coming home later and later each 
night and making more and more of a disturbance each time 
he did it. | 

Haworth had several times been awakened in the small 
hours of the morning by the slamming of doors and the 
shouting of oaths and lines out of what are called, for want 
of a worse name, songs. However, as the noise and uproar 
seemed to subside when Findlay finally got himself upstairs, 
Haworth waited for that relief, though with a sharp agony 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD gl 


of pain at the thought of Edith having to endure the pres- 
ence of the intoxicated loafer. 

This had been going on for more than a week, and, as I 
say, growing steadily worse, when a night came that the 
raucous clamor failed to diminish on Findlay’s getting up- 
stairs and into the room that he and his wife occupied. It 
was somewhat muffled after the door closed, but even then 
oaths and abuse could be heard, and violent demands for 
something. 

Haworth’s room was farther back on the same corridor, 
and the old-fashioned transom above the door was open. At 
first he couldn’t make out what the half-crazy sot was trying 
to get from her, as he was evidently making an effort to 
keep his voice down; but soon excitement or anger made him 
raise it, and Haworth could hear his shouted demands for a 
key to something. 

Edith was saying nothing. All that could be heard were 
the threats and imprecations of her husband. Suddenly this 
stopped, then a quick and frightened, “Ok no!’ from Edith, 
followed at once by deeper threats and in the midst of them 
a subdued scream and the sound of the door flung open. 

Haworth had sprung from his bed at the very instant of 
Edith’s scream and was through the door and out in the cor- 
ridor just as she came running out of her room, followed by 
her husband. He was flourishing a big revolver and lurching 
this way and that as he came. 

Haworth started up the hall toward them, but Edith had 
seen him and ran into his arms, terrified. He instantly swung 
-her around behind him so that he was between her and Find- 
lay, and without taking his eyes off the latter,—who had 
stopped not far from the door of his room and was staring 


Q2 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


with alcoholic malevolence at his wife and the man she was 
clinging to. The light that had been left on for him in the 
upper hall shone directly across them. 

“Here!” he suddenly called out. ‘“Thish has gone far 
enough!” And he flourished his weapon about. “Far 
enough!” he repeated, and went on mumbling threats and 
curses. 

Haworth began gently to free himself from Edith’s fright- 
ened clinging, at the same time pushing her back toward the 
door of his room. 

“Don’t worry,” he told her as they moved back; “he isn’t 
going to hurt anybody. I want to speak to him a minute.” 

“Oh no! You mustn’t! No—flease! He’s crazy! He 
doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 

“Yes—well, I thought I’d tell him.” 

They’d reached his door by now. 

“Could you wait here a minute—just in the doorway? 
. .. That’s it. And please don’t come out in the hall.” 

She obeyed and stood just within the door, but her eyes 
were looking at him with wide anxiety. He touched her 
shoulder soothingly, then turned away and walked easily up 
the corridor toward the liquor-crazed brute with the gun. 

“Now you wait juss precishly ware you are or I'll plug 
you!” Findlay’s speech was thick but his revolver was steady 
enough as he brought it down, covering Haworth. 

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation, however, on the part 
of that young man as he calmly walked up to Augustus. 
“T’ll take that gun,” he said. 

What !” 

“That gun—there in your hand.” 

Augustus stood blinking at him several seconds, then 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 93 


slowly lowered his arm, and after another pause reached out 
the weapon toward Haworth. The young man took it and 
turning toward the front of the house, sent it crashing 
through the big east window of the upper hall. Then he 
stepped to the open door of Findlay’s room, and taking the 
key out of the inside keyhole, inserted it in the outside one. 
That done, he turned to Findlay and made a slight motion 
to him to go in. Nothing marked, no assumption of com- 
mand, a mere side motion of the head with a turn of the 
hand. 

Augustus did further vacant blinking. Then, seeming to 
comprehend something, he turned and walked unsteadily 
through the door, upon which Haworth closed it carefully 
and turned the key on the outside. After trying it to make 
sure the lock was holding, he went back to Edith. 

She caught at him impulsively as he came to her in the 
doorway of his room, and he could hear her breathing deep 
relief. Almost without knowing it he had her in his arms, 
held close against him. He felt that her whole body was 
trembling. He looked down and noticed for the first time 
that she had on only a thin slip of a nightdress—one of the 
flimsy things that Hulda had bought her. 

“You're cold,” he said. 


“No,’ she whispered. “It’s only he—— How did I 
know but—how did I know ii 

Tell me.” 

“He might have—killed you!” 

“There was no danger of that— You're shivering! Do 


you mind getting in there—in my bed—till I get some of 
your things?’ And he pushed her gently back into the half- 


O4 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


dark room, “You must get warm. You must, my—my 
dear.” 

She still clung to him. 

“Don’t go there again,” she whispered. 

“But I want to get something warm for you—that fur 
thing.” 

“You can’t. It’s locked in a drawer.” 

“Where’s the key?” 

LNT r9 

“Have you hidden it somewhere?” 

“It’s on this string—around my neck. I didn’t want him 
to get it.” 

“Get it! For what?” 

She wouldn’t say any more. But even as he asked the 
question he knew—for the money he might raise on it. 

“Let me have the key,” he said. 

“No, please!” she remonstrated. “You mustn’t go—you 
mustn’t. When he drinks he’s out of his mind—a maniac; 
you don’t know what terrible things he might do.” 

“He can’t do much now—his gun’s out there in the grass.” 

She stared up at Haworth. 

“Was that it—when the glass broke?” 

He nodded. 

After a moment she undid the string and gave him the 
key. But her hands were trembling. 

“Does he do this often?” Haworth inquired. 

“Not with—with one of those things.” 

“Gun, you mean?” 

He could feel her head nodding “yes” as it rested against 
him. 

“But last night,’ she went on, “he—told me—if I didn’t 


, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 95 


give him the key to-night he’d ” A slight shudder 
passed over her. | 

“Nothing like that’ll happen here, so please don’t worry.” 

She looked up in his face, which she could just see—a 
whiteness in the gloom. 

“T didn’t mind so much till he fired it once,—not—not at 
me, but I didn’t know that, and ever since I can’t—seem 
to ” She shuddered again in his arms. 

“He won't fire it again. . . . Your hands are like ice. Do 
please crawl in there and pull the blankets over you.” 

And he urged her toward the disordered pillows. 

When she had turned and moved away in the dimness, 
Haworth went back to the Findlay room and unlocked the 
door. Taking the key out of the lock, he stepped inside, 
closed the door and locked it again, putting the key in the 
pocket of his pajamas. 

Augustus was sitting on the bed. He appeared to be try- 
ing to figure out what had happened to him, 

“You again!’ he mumbled. 

Haworth didn’t take the trouble to glance in his direction 
but went across to the bureau and unlocked the drawers with 
the key Edith had given him, then piled the contents across 
his left arm, leaving his right free for other purposes. On 
these things he tossed whatever articles of feminine apparel 
he could find about the room, including a pair of little fur- 
lined slippers which he handled with the utmost considera- 
tion. He also made a clean sweep of the toilet articles on 
the dressing table, managing to hold them on top of the other 
things with his left hand backward over them. Then he 
returned to the door and was taking the key out of his 
pocket with his free hand when Augustus spoke again. 


96 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“You wait!’ he shouted, thickly. 

Haworth turned to him. 

“T shay wait—you there! Do I make myself plain?” 

“What is it? I’m waiting.” 

“Oh, you are, eh! You're waitin’, eh! Well, I’m damn 
glad to know it! Now you juss tell me—I demand you teil 
me where my wife is! You tell me that?” 

“T’ll inform you of one thing—she’s safe from you!”” And 
Haworth turned back to the door. 

“Now, you!” Findlay had risen heavily and was lumber- 
ing toward him. “Now juss one minute, my frien’—juss one 
minute! I'll thank you to leave those things where they 
b’long !’’ 

Haworth waited until Findlay had come blustering up to 
within a couple of feet of him and stopped. The two re- 
garded each other in silence for a few seconds. Then the 
young inventor spoke in a low voice. “I’ve got a few words 
to say to you in the morning,” he said, and unlocking the 
door, went out, and closed and locked it again on the outside. 

“Getting warm all right?” he asked, standing by the bed 
in the dimness of his room. 

“T think so,’ came the voice of Edith, muffled by the 
pillows. 

He put down the clothing carefully on a chair. 

“I think I found everything,” he said. “You must stay 
here and keep warm.” And he tried to pull the blankets 
closer round her neck. 

“But if he comes with that—that ft 

“He won’t. He’s locked in the room. And [ll be just 
outside here in the hall, not ten feet away—not ten feet. 
Til get the big chair down the hall sf 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 97 


“But—oh no—I can’t drive you out of your room like 
that! Ji stay out there.” She caught at his hand and 
clung to it. 

“But wait. Listen, darling—darling—darling ” (Now 
that he’d found the word, he wanted to say it all the time.) 
“T’d so—so much—so tremendously much like being there 
watching while you’re asleep. You don’t know—it’s—it’s 
beyond words. So you must let me do that while you're 
attending to the sleeping part.” He was accustomed to the 
near darkness now and could see her eyes wide open, fixed 
on him. “If you want a light’”—he spoke rather hurriedly— 
“the switch is there by the door. Can you see it? And 
you'll call me if you want anything, won’t you?” 

He tried to disengage his hand, but as she wouldn’t let it 
go he lifted it so her hand came to his lips, and held it 
pressed against them for a little; then gently undid her fin- 
gers and tucked her arm under the coverlet. — 

“T’ll take these on the way,” he said, gathering up an arm- 
ful of his own clothes from a chair and moving toward the 
door. | 

“I’m coming too!” she suddenly announced, throwing the 
bedclothes back and sliding out till her little white feet 
touched the floor. “If you’re going to sit out there I’m going 
to sit with you!” And she began to fumble among the 
things he’d brought from her room. 

He stood in the doorway, considering. She surely ought 
to stay there and keep warm and rest. The house was chilly, 
She’d be sure to—she’d be And at that point an idea 
_ came to him. 

“T’ll build a fire downstairs if you'll come and sit by it,” 
he said. 


98 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


She straightened up from her search among the things on 
the chair and looked at him for a second; then: 

“Are you coming too?” 

“Oh yes!” 

“Oh !—Then J’ll be down in just a minute!” 

He reached in and snapped the light on for her, closed the 
door, and went downstairs. After putting on the clothes he 
had caught up while leaving his room, he built a huge fire 
in the fireplace of the living room. 

Edith came before he’d quite finished, and he pushed the 
big chair around in front of the fire for her, and another for 
himself as near to it as its bloated old upholstery would 
allow. There was only firelight in the room, and the two 
were there in it without a thought of anything but that they 
were there—together. Haworth had her dear, precious, ex- 
quisite hands in his (I’m quoting from his thoughts) and 
when she fell asleep her head rested on his shoulder. Never 
had he imagined that such a miraculous night was within 
the reach of members of the human race—nor, indeed, had 
she. 


Of course, they knew now. Perhaps not the strength of 
the current that was whirling them along, perhaps not pre- 
cisely how far they’d already been carried by it, but enough. 
And the first idea in the minds of both Edith and Haworth 
when they came to think it over by daylight was to resist, 
to attempt to get out of the rapids. 

With one accord and no words spoken they set to work 
on the following morning with the brave idea of behaving as 
though they were merely casual acquaintances, and not, as 
was the actual state of things, the custodians of each other’s 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 99 


lives. And they succeeded fairly well in acting this deceitful 
drama whenever they chanced to meet—which was neces- 
sarily quite often—and gave their performance as relent- 
lessly when no audience was there to see, as they did in the 
presence of spectators. Moreover, they really tried, both of 
them, to avoid meeting. There was no attempted coldness; 
their relationship would have seemed to an observer to be 
of agreeable friendliness, nothing more. 


And, as it happened, there was an observer and not 
only that, but a close and eager one. 

When Haworth went in to say a few words to Findlay 
the morning after the latter’s revolver had been taken from 
him and flung through the window, he found the fellow 
silent and sullen. His ideas as to what had occurred during 
the night were hazy in the extreme, but these few quiet 
words from Haworth cleared his atmosphere in the space 
of a few seconds, and put him in the way of distinct realiza- 
tion of where he stood. He had threatened his wife with a 
gun (he remembered having intended to do so) and the 
weapon had been taken from him. He had been locked in 
his room (he was already aware of this from having made 
efforts to get out) and as the Haworth fellow gave it to him, 
not only was Mrs. Findlay to have a separate sleeping room, 
but she was to occupy it without interference or disturbance 
from him. 

As for Haworth himself, he would sleep downstairs on a 
cot in his drafting room, as he had often done before. This 
- would give them the entire floor to themselves. If, however, 
he started any of his rowdyism again, or mistreated his wife, 
or threatened her with mistreatment, he would be turned 


100 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


over to the police and locked up. That was all. Good 
morning. 

It was the matter of his wife being given a room by her- 
self that put a knife in him. A dull but furious jealousy 
began to rage somewhere in his interior. Though he had a 
horror of losing these comfortable and cost-free quarters, 
that aversion was as nothing beside the rabid fury generated 
by his suddenly aroused suspicion. The mere thought of. 
what might be—when he allowed himself to project his 
imaginings on the subject as far as that—threw him into a 
fit of murderous passion. He’d keep his eyes open! He’d 
get on to it pretty damned quick if any funny business was 
going on. And if it was 

From that time and for more than a week it could have 
been noticed—and probably was by Hulda—that Mr. Find- 
lay went in to Boston with much less frequency than for- 
merly, and that when he did so he arrived back at most un- 
expected times,—once coming in quite hurriedly by one of 
the rear entrances fifteen minutes after he had left the house 
at the front door, apparently departing for the day. 

It so happened, though, that neither of the two people 
Findlay was endeavoring to surprise in some sort of misde- 
meanor, was in the slightest degree aware of his violent 
spasm of watchfulness. They were both fighting desper- 
ately to struggle out of the torrent that had swept them off 
their feet, and couldn’t be expected to take notice of other 
things. Naturally, under the circumstances, Augustus dis- 
covered nothing. There was nothing. Even when they met 
alone, only a few commonplace words, if any, passed between 
them. He never once overheard the least thing that was out 
of the way when it happened that they were alone together 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 101 


and he could manage to listen, and when they both went out, 
as they did nearly every afternoon—Haworth for long walks 
on the railroad track, Edith to trudge about the suburban 
roads or sometimes to go in to Boston—and he followed one 
or the other of them, he never found that they met anywhere 
or came within miles of meeting. 

As he was unable to gather fuel for his jealousy, it began 
to burn with diminished ferocity, and it wasn’t long before 
he revived his briefly interrupted custom of returning late at 
night from his alleged business trips to the city, bringing 
with him a heavy load of whatever intoxicant he could buy 
with the money he borrowed from Haworth. For a while, 
however, his subconscious department succeeded in keeping 
uppermost in his mind the idea that it would be well to con- 
trol himself when he came in, and to get into bed as quietly 
as possible. 


Something over a fortnight after the revolver episode and 
the night together by the open fire, the two unfortunates, 
caught in the merciless grip of a love trap and struggling 
with all the strength they could command to extricate them- 
selves from it, had come very close to reaching the limit of 
what they could do. Was anything else to be expected? 
Completely out of their normal minds—mad—even quietly 
delirious—living there together in the same house—left 
to themselves most of the time, and trying to carry on as if 
they were casual acquaintances—wouldn’t that wear out the 
strength of anyone, or, to be more accurate, any two? 

Haworth, one day along this time, came in from a tramp 
at dinner time and learned from Hulda that Mr. Findlay 
hadn’t come in. He and Edith would be alone together. It 


102 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


had happened several times lately, but to-night he had the 
feeling that he couldn’t manage to behave as an ordinary 
friend might; he didn’t think he could carry it through. 

“When Mrs. Findlay comes down, ask her please to have 
dinner without me. I’ve got some important work to do— 
very important.” 

When Hulda went into the hall she saw Edith near the 
top of the stairs and going up. She had come down and 
stopped near the door as she heard Haworth speaking, and 
couldn’t help hearing what he said. Upon which she fled up 
the stairs again, and a moment after the maid had caught 
sight of her she was back in her room with the door closed. 

Hulda followed and knocked softly. 

“Can’t I bring you up something, Mrs, Findlay?” 

“No, nothing—/lease.” 

Hulda left a tray on Haworth’s drawing table, before 
which he was sitting absently. But she knew, as soon as she 
saw him, that he wouldn’t touch anything. 

It was a wicked evening for them both. Haworth sat in 
a corner of his workroom and stared before him, seeing 
nothing. Edith lay on her bed with her head pushed in 
among the pillows. 

With her it was simpler—just plain misery, and longing, 
and hunger and thirst for him. But Haworth, while having 
all these feelings for her, was at the same time feverishly 
hunting for some way out, all the while knowing that noth- 
ing could be done without money, of which he was by this 
time nearly destitute. If he had had the means at hand, there 
isn’t the slightest doubt he’d have fled with her. But he 
hadn’t nearly enough for that, nor had he anything on which 
he could raise it. The amount that old Mr. Cripps had left 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 103 


to him (being probably the remains of the money obtained 
on the mortgage) had virtually disappeared. 

Haworth wasn’t in the habit of thinking of these things; 
he’d always let them go until something happened. For him- 
self what did it matter? But now...... Edith. And 
he went over the problem again and again, hoping each time 
to arrive at a better result. 

It was very much later in the evening when Hulda came 
down and tapped at his door. After she had knocked three 
times he heard her. | 

“Come in,” he said, huskily. 

“Mrs. Findlay asked me to say could she speak to you 
for a minute.” | 

“Yes—yes.”’ Haworth roused himself and cleared his 
throat. ‘Tell her I’ll go up there and—and see what she 
wants.” 

“axes sir.” 

A moment later he knocked at Edith’s door and she opened 
it. They stood silent. Suddenly he snatched both her hands 
and held them pressed against him. 

“Oh!” she breathed—a sort of whispered groan—and 
turned her head away for God knows what—perhaps a last 
feeble effort to avert the catastrophe she knew was coming. 
Soon she turned to him again and spoke unsteadily, almost 
whispering. 

“This was what I—what I wanted to tell you,” she said. 
“T’ve been thinking it over, and now—you see—you see the 
way things are— I can’t Don’t you see I'll have to 


99 


104 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“T couldn’t let you! How could I when I love you so!” 

She was looking up in his face and her lips moved. 
Though no sound came from them, he could feel what she 
was trying to say—knew it almost before she began—and 
had her close in his arms, kissing her madly, blindly, impetu- 
ously; whispering brokenly the few words of endearment 
he knew. 

It seemed hardly a moment, but it was in reality a large 
number of them, before the violent closing of the front door 
recalled Edith and Haworth to the surface of the earth. 
Not only were they made acquainted by this with the circum- 
stance of Findlay’s return, but the demonstration following 
said closing gave a fairly reliable indication of his condition, 
consisting as it did of a burst of song and a bit of incoherent 
monologue. 

“T’m going to lock you in,’ Haworth whispered in Edith’s 
ear. 

“VY es)’ 

He locked the door from the outside and put the key in 
his pocket. Then he went along the corridor to the rear of 
the house, down the servants’ staircase, and through the pas- 
sage into the main hall. 

Augustus was preparing to negotiate the stairs. 

“Well, how-dy-do!” he said, supporting himself by one 
of the newel posts. “You see before you, Misser Haworth, 
a shinin’ ezample of the pernishus influences of too mush 
happinish !”’ 

Haworth stood silently regarding him. 

“I’m shorry,” he went on. ‘“Deeply,an’ shincerely—e— 
sinsherely shorry. But it was on account o’ shelibrashun! 
Yes, sir—shelibration! You'll be d’lighted to hear th’ glad 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 105 


tidings that I got a posishun. Yes, sir—though I say it 
myseif they took me on to-day at the Boshun Nalb’ny freight 
yards. You know men are very scarce!” 

“They must be,” said Haworth; and turning away he went 
into the living room. From there he could hear Augustus 
finally accomplish the (for him) considerable feat of ascend- 
ing the stairs, and from the summit of the same negotiate 
the short distance to his room. In a moment he heard him 
come out again and walk heavily down the corridor to the 
room occupied by Mrs. Findlay. 

Haworth could hear his loud pounding on her door and 
boisterous demands to be let in, together with the shouted 
information as to his having been taken on by the railroad 
company and his urgent desire for further celebration of that 
event. This he kept up interminably, varying it with whin- 
ing and begging that she open the door. But he eventually 
became tired of it and went shambling back to his room. 

Haworth gave him about half an hour. At the expiration 
of that time he went upstairs and listened at his door. Loud 
breathing and raucous nasal reverberations were the only 
sounds that could be heard from within. The key was at 
his hand on the outside. He grasped it firmly so there 
should be as little rattling as possible, and slowly turned it 
in the lock. After listening a moment to make sure the 
slight click hadn’t disturbed the sleeper within, he turned 
and walked down the corridor, taking the other key out of 
his pocket as he went. 


It proved to be the truth that Augustus had got a job at 
the Exeter Street freight yards. Whether to hustle boxes 
and barrels about or sit on a high stool and work at bills 


106 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


of lading he never told. But whatever it was, it obliged 
him to rise every morning at five-thirty and have breakfast 
at six. 

After three mornings of this, Alma, the cook, appeared 
before Haworth and made the solemn declaration that she — 
wouldn’t be staying there to get up and cook a special break- 
fast “for the likes o’ him.” Haworth, much disturbed, in- 
quired of Hulda what he’d better do, and she told him that 
the only way to settle it was to turn that Findlay man out 
of the house and get rid of him “for good an’ all.” But of 
course if he did that Augustus would take Edith with him. | 
No way to prevent it that he could see. He puzzled quite 
distractedly over the matter for some time, and then be- 
thought him of an old woman who came in from somewhere 
once a week to clean. Mrs. Temple was her name, and sev- 
eral times in the past when she’d been working in the base- 
ment he had called her into his shop and got her to help him 
about something that needed an extra pair of hands; and 
twice since Michael Cripps’s death—there being no one else 
to do it—she had gone in to Boston to manage the matter of 
replacing servants for him. It now occurred to him to ask 
her what had better be done about Mr. Findlay’s new break- 
fast requirements. hha 

Mrs. Temple was entirely equal to the occasion. She her- 
self went to Mr. Findlay and notified him in not the politest 
terms, that if he wanted his breakfast before eight o’clock 
in the morning he’d have to get it somewhere else. There 
was no more trouble; Findlay got his breakfast somewhere 
else. And beginning about then Haworth came more and 
more to rely on the old woman for advice and assistance. 
She was a wise one, too, and had a perfectly clear idea of 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 107 


what she was about, which was particularly fortunate just 
at this period, for the young inventor was in a daze—a 
dream—an enchantment. 

About this time the market where they bought provisions 
notified Haworth that it could not extend further credit be- 
cause of unpaid bills. Following shortly, a grocery estab- 
lishment did the same thing. And Haworth, having no idea 
what to do about it, as it appeared on investigation that he 
had very little money left—certainly not enough to pay what 
was Oowing—turned the matter over to the old woman, asking 
her please to attend to it in whatever way she thought best. 
This she forthwith did by opening accounts elsewhere. This 
would carry them along for a time at least, and after that 
“we'll see.” Put that in quotes, because it was Mrs. Temple’s 
philosophy to do what she could at the time, and as to the 
future, “we’ll see.” 

Where this old woman came from or when she came, no 
one seemed to know. Haworth himself hadn’t the faintest 
idea. She spoke very seldom and never about herself. 
Where she lived was also in the nature of a mystery. Of 
course it could have been solved if anyone cared to follow 
her, but no one did. And no one noticed it, either, when 
she began coming in twice a week instead of once as for- 
merly. Nobody had asked her to, and she said nothing to 
anyone about an increase in wages. 


Haworth and Edith Findlay were now making little or no 
effort to conceal the fact from Augustus—or for that mat- 
ter from anyone—that they were together for the greater 
part of the time. They were in every way so utterly and 
completely taken up with each other that nothing else ap- 


108 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


peared to them of the slightest consequence. They talked 
and read together, and took long tramps in woods and 
fields and along country roads. 

Findlay usually got home from his work about half-past 
five or six, often in plenty of time to see the two come in 
from an afternoon’s tramp, or to find them working in the 
old flower garden together, or something like that. And it 
was entirely open to observation—when anyone was there to 
observe it—that in the evening they were by themselves 
somewhere, reading together or engaged over chess or crib- 
bage. 

While all-this, as I’ve said, could be seen without effort, 
Augustus had all the appearance of being unaware of it. But 
he had seen and heard enough in the course of a week or so, 
to rouse his most malignant passions. Without appearing 
to do so, he was watching every move they made. 

When he first began work at the yards, Findlay had felt 
too tired on getting home at the end of the day, to go back 
to town again after dinner—or even to nearer places—for 
alcoholic consolation. This resulted in a much clearer mind 
than was normal with him. And once his overpowering 
suspicion was awakened the thought of drinking never 
crossed his mind. 

As he became more and more aroused, at the same time 
gaining a stronger perception of the situation and harboring 
a more desperate desire to trap them, a scheme by which he 
could do so came into his mind, and he set to work to put it 
into practice. The first move was his failure to appear for 
dinner, which had not occurred since he got the job at the 
freight yards. Late that night he came in loaded—or ap- 
parently so. One would have supposed, if not too close an 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 109 


investigator, that the fellow was in a hopeless state of intoxi- 
cation. And so, notwithstanding that his imitation of him- 
self as a roistering inebriate was far from being a perfect 
one, it succeeded with the two people for whose benefit (and 
ultimate undoing) he was giving the performance; for, un- 
fortunately, neither of them was in the mood to criticize 
it. He was enabled, therefore, eventually to stagger into 
his room with the impression successfully conveyed that he 
was drunk and disorderly to the furthest limit. Once there, 
and from the moment of his violently slamming shut the 
door, his vigil began. 

He had tools with which to open the door should anyone 
lock him in, and the key was purposely left on the outside as 
a further blind. It was the fourth time that he set this trap 
before it closed on its victims. 


Shortly before nine oclock of the morning following the 
springing of the trap, Mr. Augustus Findlay drove up to the 
front portico of the mansion in a taxi, and with two small 
and exceedingly moderate-priced trunks set in front beside 
the driver. He’d gone out early and bought them at a place 
in Roslindale where they kept almost everything. The chauf- 
feur lent a hand in taking them into the house, and about 
an hour later renewed the loan in bringing them out again. 

Edith came slowly down the great stairway, pulling on her 
gloves. She wore the long fur coat that Haworth had given 
her; indeed, everything she had on came from him. She 
didn’t raise her eyes as she descended, seeming to be occu- 

pied with her gloves. The veil which was pulled down over 
her face failed to hide the paleness of it, which glimmered 
through like a small white cloud. 


110 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Haworth was standing back against the wall near the foot 
of the stairs, with the look of death upon him. It wasn’t so 
much the mortuary pallor of his countenance as the strained 
fixity of his staring yet unseeing eyes. He had gone to her 
-room while Augustus was getting the taxi, and found it 
locked. 

“Open the door! Open it quick!” he’d called to her in a 
half whisper as he knocked lightly, for to create a disturbance 
would defeat what he had made up his mind to do. 

“Oh, I can’t!” she answered, coming as near to him as 
possible. “He’s taken away the key!’ 

Haworth turned and ran down the two flights of stairs to 
the basement, and was back in a moment with a heavy iron 
bar. 

“Darling, are you there?” 
| “Oh yes—I’m right here—as near as I can get!’ 

“Well, stand away—stand away from the door. I’m going 
to break it in!” 

i “No no!—Please don’t! Oh wait Michael!” 

{ “Get back by the window! You're coming with me!” 

' “Stop! Michael—stop! You'll hurt me! I’m close to the 
door—right against it! Listen to me, dear—it’ll only make 
it worse! Yes, it will—whatever you do! He could stop 
us. There’d be police and, oh! reporters—and everything ! 
I’m sure there would.” 

Her low voice reached him clearly as she stood close 
against the door. 

_ “What can we do?” he got out, hoarsely. 

“Nothing now—nothing, dear, just now! I must go with 
him and you mustn’t do anything! Afterward, when it all 
quiets down, we'll find some way!” This poor child was the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 111 


wise and cool one through it all. Haworth was demented 
with the hurt of it and his helplessness. 

“Don’t let him find you here!’ she went on. “Let him 
have his way. Don’t say anything! Good-by, darling. Til 
be—I'll be loving you always—always—and oh, so much!” 

Haworth tried to speak, but couldn’t. After a time he 
moved slowly away. 

And now she was coming down the stairs, buttoning one 
of her gloves and with her white face showing through the 
veil. He knew that she passed close to him and felt the 
thrill of her nearness. Then came the terrifying conscious- 
ness that she was going away from him. After that she 
was gone. 

Findlay, waiting outside, saw her seated in the taxi; then 
he entered the house. Seeing Haworth near the stairway, 
he walked down the hall and got out between his teeth with 
a peculiar low-voiced malevolence: “You dirty loafer! You 
——! Sometime—yes, by God! I’m going to get 
even with you.” Having delivered himself of which, he 
strode through the front door. A moment later the taxicab 
could be heard driving away. 


eee 


PART V 


OR interminable weeks Haworth had no idea where they 
were. Edith had asked him not to try to find her, and he 
would do nothing against her wishes. 

Most of the time he was sitting somewhere in the house— 
he didn’t notice where—staring before him with wide-open 
eyes that saw nothing. Hulda brought him “just a taste” of 
this or that at meal times and he’d make an attempt to eat 
a little so she wouldn’t feel hurt. Sometimes he would start 
walking aimlessly about the house. 

For quite a time he couldn’t bring himself to enter the 
room Edith had occupied—his own room. But the time 
came when, with a fearful sinking of the heart, he opened 
the door. After a while he ventured in a little way and stood 
looking at the dressing table with the chair before it. He 
could picture her there so well. His eyes slowly moved 
to other things—the bureau, the chairs, the bed with the 
soft rug at the side where her small white feet so often 
touched before she could find her bedroom slippers. 

Very soon—on his first visit—he had to turn away and 
hasten gropingly out of the room. He was there again the 
next day, and on the floor of the great wardrobe he found 
the worn little shoes that were on her feet the day she came. 

It was more than a fortnight after she left when he got a 
note from her. It had been mailed. For a while he was 
unable to open it, as he had been at first to enter her room. 
When he did, life came back to him. Sometime they could 


liz 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 113 


meet somewhere—but not now. And he must not try to 
find her. Would he please write and tell her if he still loved 
her? It would help her to stay alive if she could only be 
sure that he truly did. The best address would be the Gen- 
eral Delivery, Boston. She would read the letter and destroy 
it there at the Post Office. 

After this he was able to look at all the things that spoke 
to him of her, with painful delight instead of devastating 
despair. 

But now financial troubles began to bear down on him. 
The greatly increased expenses from having the Findlays 
there, together with Augustus’s borrowings and Edith’s 
wardrobe, had more than made an end of the few thousands 
left him by old Mr. Cripps. He had adopted the plan long 
ago advised by Mr. Trescott, the attorney, of cutting down 
living expenses and apportioning so much and no more to 
each month. In this way the money could have been made 
to last nearly four years, and surely by that time, Mr. Tres- 
cott had said, he ought to be able to do something with his 
patents and mechanical work. 

But this wise financial arrangement had been abandoned 
when the Findlays came; and now the funds that were to 
have carried him for some two years longer had entirely dis- 
appeared, and in addition to that a number of people were 
clamoring for various amounts which he appeared to owe 
them. Haworth turned in this emergency, as he had before, 
to Mrs. Temple, who muttered something about ‘‘cormo- 
rants,” and then did the best she could again, this time per- 
suading some of the creditors to wait a little on the ground 
that Mr. Haworth had valuable patents and was on the point 
of selling one of them for thousands of dollars. In cases 


114 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


where further credit was refused she made arrangements 
with other (and more distant) firms. Of course there wasn’t 
the least use in going to the electric-light company—nobody 
ever heard of their doing anything except shut off the cur- 
rent—which they promptly did. 

So far as light was concerned, Haworth minded it very 
little. The oil lamps and candles Mrs. Temple got hold 
of somewhere, answered well enough. But he did very 
much mind—thkough not so much at this time as later, when 
he tried to get back to his work again—losing the power 
for his machinery. He had only the haziest ideas as to 
creditors or electrical calamities or where his groceries were 
or were not coming from. Mrs. Temple was attending to it, 
and he let it rest at that. He could live in peace with his 
dreams and memories and imaginings—all of Edith and the 
exquisite pain of his longing for her. He wrote to her and 
had another precious letter in reply. She told of their having 
moved into a small house on Cherry Street, but said he 
must not come there. Perhaps sometime, but not then. If 
they could only meet somewhere, perhaps in town, before 
long, just for a few minutes. She loved him so! And if 
she could not see him soon it did not seem as if she could go _ 
on living. | 

It was a month after this before they finally met. He 
waited for her on a quiet old street on the hill back of the 
State House. When she finally came, neither could speak. 
They found a bench hidden by shrubbery near the north 
end of the pond in the Public Garden. 

After a time, when they had whispered those first words 
of endearment after the long separation, and he could begin 
to realize things, he was greatly disturbed by her appear- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD ; 115 


ance, so worn and thin she was, with a hunted look in the 
eyes he loved beyond all measure. After much effort he 
discovered in a roundabout way, that for one thing she was 
half starved. It appeared that when Augustus earned any- 
thing he spent nearly the whole of it on himself or gambled 
it away. Very little came to her for household uses. Some- 
times none.. And now he wasn’t working at all. He’d lost 
his place at the freight yards. | 

She wouldn’t mind so much about the food part of it, she 
said, but when he came home late at night and there wasn’t 
anything to eat, he was so violent! He seemed to think that 
she was to blame for it. The trouble was he had a revolver 
again and flourished it about. He always seemed to want 
to do that when he’d been drinking. And though she felt 
sure he wouldn’t fire it, she couldn’t help being frightened. 

After that, although they talked of other things in their 
brief time together, he never once escaped from the terrify- 
ing realization that she was starving,—actually starving, and 
he could do nothing. Until now he had never entertained 
a suspicion of the tremendous importance of having money. 
Even while they were there, with only those few precious 
moments to themselves after weeks of loneliness, he was 
desperately catching at straws of possibilities for obtaining 
- some—in sufficient amount, that is, to relieve her distressing 
situation at home. By a lucky chance he had brought with 
him what little he had in the house, so he could at least 
keep her from starvation for to-day. It would hardly do 
more than that. But how to get more? How? How? 
How? 

Then suddenly he thought of Mr. Trescott. He remem- 
bered one thing the lawyer had recommended was the sale 


116 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


of the place. There was a mortgage, but they could get a 
figure, he had said, that would cover it and leave something 
over. Haworth couldn’t bring himself to do it then. There — 
was his shop and machinery and drafting room—all the 
things he needed. But what did that amount to now? Edith 
had come into his life; she was his life. There was nothing 
else. He didn’t understand it, but it was so—there was 
nothing else. 

He would go and see Mr. Trescott the next day and ask 
him to sell the place. That was settled. And for the rest of 
the time they were together he had no thought but of Edith, 
and of her presence close beside him. Most of it was spent 
in a restaurant, for as soon as it would do after discovering 
the state of things he claimed to be exceedingly hungry, and 
they went to one together. She was entirely frank and said 
she was hungry too, and he had the joy of seeing her pres- 
ent famishment relieved. 

While they were there he told her, as a preparation for 
what would come from selling the mansion (for she might 
not like that), that he expected to dispose of one of his in- 
ventions and she was to go halves with him on whatever he 
got. She said, ‘Oh!’ and her eyes were alight for a mo- 
ment. But then she looked at him doubtfully. 

“What is it, darling?” he asked. 

“Oh—why, I’m thinking—I’m afraid you'll not be taking 
care of yourself—your machinery and patents and—and all 
that you need to do about them.” 

“There'll be plenty for those things too.” 

“Will there?” 

And so at last she was satisfied, and they began to con- 
sider the way of getting her “share” to her—whether a little 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 117 


at atime ora lump sum. They finally decided on small and 
more frequent remittances, for if Findlay once got the idea 
that she had a considerable amount of money in the house 
he would resort to any violence to get it. And mailing 
seemed the best way of sending, for she could go to the 
Post Office without danger of discovery, if she was careful 
about it. 

Soon after they had decided on this she left him, going out 
of the restaurant by herself and getting a car in the subway 
which would take her within a few blocks of Cherry Street. 


On reaching the mansion Haworth found a letter waiting 
for him. The envelope bore the name of a prominent sav- 
ings bank in Boston from which he vaguely remembered hav- 
ing heard before. Within was a formal notice to the effect 
that if the interest on the mortgage note was not paid by 
such and such a time (which was only five days away), fore- 
closure proceedings would at once be instituted. This ex- 
plained why the name of the bank had seemed familiar, 
other communications on the same subject having come in 
before, though none so definite and alarming. These—as 
he had no idea what to do with them—he had turned over, 
with other bills and requests for payment, to Mrs. Temple; 
and although this estimable old woman quite well under- 
stood grocery and market accounts, foreclosure notices were 
as Greek to her. She had therefore done nothing about them, 
quite certain that this behavior would bring further explana- 
tion if there was any. 

It looked serious to Haworth. If they foreclosed he 
wouldn’t be able to sell the place. Naturally he wasn’t able 


118 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


to sleep that night. Next morning he went to Mr. Trescott’s 
office. 

The old lawyer said at once that he doubted if anything 
could be done, as the property was mortgaged to nearly the 
limit. A forced sale was out of the question. When he 
had advised selling some years before, prices were high; 
now they were normal again. A second mortgage would 
hardly be possible under the circumstances. The only chance 
he saw was the possibility that the holders of the first would 
be willing to make a new one for an increased amount, or 
that a new one for a larger amount could be negotiated else- 
where and the old one paid off with the proceeds, leaving 
him something after the transaction. He would take the 
matter up with the bank, and Mr. Haworth would hear 
from him in a day or two. He inquired how the inventions 
were selling and was sorry to hear that they hadn’t done 
better. He had sent a few people out there to see them and 
would try to do so again. 


Four days later—four terrible days for Haworth—the 
letter he was waiting for came. Mr. Trescott requested 
him to call and attend to the execution of a new mortgage. 
It seemed the bank was willing to increase the amount of 
the loan to the extent of five thousand dollars—a consid- 
eration being, however, not alone the payment out of this 
of interest due, but interest on the new note for two years 
in advance. 

Haworth, enormously relieved, went to the Trescott & 
Chamberlain offices and the business was transacted. Fifty 
dollars was at once mailed to Edith, and he sent her that 
amount weekly thereafter. Mrs. Temple was given what 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 119 


was necessary to pay current bills and, at her suggestion, 
the expenses of the establishment were reduced still further. 

All thought of attention to the needs of the house, in the 
way of repairs, painting, and the like, was abandoned, as 
was also the keeping up of the grounds and gardens sur- 
rounding it. Even the shattered window in front on the 
second floor was still as Augustus’s hurtling revolver had 
left it. These various economies and others wouldn’t have 
occurred to Haworth, but his overwhelming desire to save 
enough out of the additional mortgage money to enable him 
to take Edith away, caused him to entreat Mrs. Temple to 
think of all possible ways to cut down expenditures. This 
she did. 

In the course of the next few weeks Edith’s condition 
was much improved, though it couldn’t be said that she 
looked entirely well. The two met in town when they could 
—which wasn’t often, for Augustus, being out of a job, was 
hanging about. They’d thought of Franklin Park and other 
places nearer than the Public Garden, but Edith couldn’t 
lose herself before going to them as she could in the crowds 
in the city district. Besides this, she had managed to find 
a place where they’d give her needlework to take home—one - 
of the “sweating” industries you read about—and this not 
only furnished her with an excuse for going to town occa- 
sionally, but had so far blocked Findlay’s suspicions as to 
where her housekeeping money came from. 

Several times they went out Cambridge way and beyond 
to some woodsy place, and wandered among the trees. There 
were still warm Indian summer days for them, though No- 
vember was close at hand. 3 

It was on one of these trips, as they were sitting on soft 


120 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


green moss with their backs to the trunk of a great oak, that 
Haworth told her about going away—that he couldn’t live 
without her. They would take a steamer to South America 
or anywhere she wished. There would be money enough to 
pay the fares and keep them until he could find work. He 
wotld dig in the streets or do anything, it made no difference 
what, if he could only be with her. 

She looked at him in a half-frightened way and shook her 
head a little. 


“You—you don’t mean —— I thought you’d come!’ he 
said. 
“There’s a—there’s something ——” She couldn’t go on 


and her face went white. 

He looked at her silently, desolated by the thought that she 
didn’t care enough for him to come. Finally he half whis- 
pered: 

“T suppose you You don’t love me—really.” 

“There’s only you in the world, Michael—only you—now 
—but before long .. .” 

He looked at her for the rest. 

“Before long there'll be some one else.” 

It was a moment before he understood. 


As weeks went by Haworth’s anxieties about Edith came 
to be unbearable—the thought of her having to live in 
that comfortless shanty and being subjected, at such a time, 
to the brutalities of her liquor-crazed husband. Finally, in 
desperation, he went to Mr. Trescott for advice, explaining 
that the Findlays were relatives of old Cripps and that he 
(Haworth) had taken them in at the mansion for a while, 
though they were now in a house of their own; that Mr. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 121 


Findlay was brutal and loathsome in every respect, often 
drinking to excess and at such times abusing and browbeat- 
ing his wife and frequently terrorizing her with a revolver; 
so that, now she was to be confined, he feared she’d not 
only have no care, but be seriously injured in some way. 

“T suppose it wouldn’t do for her to have the trouble and 
anxiety of divorcing him—now ?” 

“I—lT’m afraid not.” 

“Can’t she go home to her mother or family?” 

“No.” (Shaking his head). “She hasn’t any.” 

“Alone in the world, eh?” 

“Not so good as that. She’s with him.” 

“T see. ... Treats her badly, you say?” 

“T don’t think that’s quite the word for it.” 

“You said something about a revolver?” 

Haworth nodded in affirmation. 

“That he threatened her with it?’ 

mocen’? 

“Did anyone see him do that?” 

The young man hesitated for an instant; then, “I did— 
once.” 

“Then this threatening with a revolver took place in your 
presence ?” 

REYES." 

“Did you interfere in any way?” 

“Yes; I took it away from him.” 

Mr. Trescott regarded Haworth with peculiar interest for 
an instant. Finally he said: “If the fellow’s slamming 
around, threatening his wife with firearms, we can get the 
patrolman on that beat to keep an eye on him. Write the 
address for me.” 


122 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“But it’s no place for her there, where he might come 
in crazy drunk any minute. Isn’t there some way so she can 
be kept away from him—so he can’t get to her ?” 

“T’m afraid not, Mr. Haworth, unless he ? Mr. Tres- 
cott broke off as a possibility occurred to him. “Has he 
any money?” he asked. “Enough, I mean, to have her well 
taken care of—private hospital and all that?” 

“Yes. 

“Oh, he has! Well, do you think there’s any way to 
make him do it? It’s going to cost something, you know.” 

“He lL sdo at,” 

“That’s the thing, then.” 

Trescott wrote an address on a desk pad and scribbled a 
few words below. “See the doctor personally. Tell his 
secretary it’s from me.” He handed the address to Ha- | 
worth. “He'll see that she’s sent to the right place. And 
I rather think they can let her come along awhile before. 
She’ll have nurses, doctors, everything, and nobody’ll be 
allowed to see her that might have the least unfavorable 
effect—you understand. As I say, it’s going to be rather 
expensive. You feel quite positive the fellow can stand it?” 


He was watching the young man narrowly as he put the 
question. 

WES i 

“All right then— Now, Mr. Haworth, what about you? 
I suppose, from what you’ve been telling me, that you’ve 
had some—er—interruptions and—and anxieties. that may 
have seriously interfered with your work?” 

“Yes, I have.” 


“Well, we’ve got one distraction out of the way,” Tres- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 123 


cott said, hopefully, indicating the note and address that 
Haworth was holding in his hand. 

“Yes,” the young man said; and after thanking Mr. Tres- 
cott in his laconic way, he went to the address of the doctor. 


They kept Edith at the hospital for some weeks after she 
could have gone home. For observation, it was said—but 
that didn’t get to Haworth. He knew only that all had 
gone well, that there was a very minute daughter in the 
world, and that the conditions might perhaps be better than 
they had been so far as Findlay was concerned, for a warn- 
ing from the patrolman given before his wife was taken 
to the hospital had apparently accomplished its purpose. 
Augustus entertained a serious repugnance to jail from hay- 
ing once been compelled to sample it, and the patrolman’s 
words were seed sown in specially fertilized soil. 

For some time he had kept on the safe side of the line 
which divided bestial drunkenness from mere gentlemanly 
intoxication. And when Edith, after an absence of some 
two months, returned to the cottage on Cherry Street with 
the baby and a nurse, the comparative decency of his con- 
duct came near astounding her. Findlay, however, was con- 
trolling himself with the utmost difficulty. To the fear of 
the police was now added the presence of a nurse—and in 
a damned uniform, at that! How did he know but that she 
was sent there to report him? His mania to get even with 
Haworth increased till he was in a condition of chronic fury. 
He’d found out that Haworth had been meeting his wife, 
that the money she’d been using for household expenses 
came from him instead of being earned by her, that he had 


124 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


sent her to the hospital for her confinement and paid for it 
—though as to that, who should pay for it if not he?—and 
he hadn’t a doubt that it was Haworth who’d set the police 
on him. Haworth—Haworth—Haworth—whichever way 
he turned. And here she was, still wearing the clothes this 
fellow had given her—brazenly wearing them before his 
face! The getting of his money was nothing; it was what 
it meant—what it showed was going on. 

He’d been told by some of his disreputable associates that 
he could bring suit for alienation and get all the rotter’s prop- 
erty away from him. He'd do it, too! He knew a lawyer 
who’d take it on spec. Cost nothing. But that wasn’t 
enough. Money was all very well, but satisfaction—that was 
what he wanted—-satisfaction ! 


Haworth had been allowed to see Edith a few days after 
the child was born. She was very white and beautiful. 
When the nurse brought the little speck of humanity, sound 
asleep, and laid it beside her, he sat gazing at it for a long 
time. Edith lay looking at him with a shadow of a smile 
flitting about her face. Soon the nurse made a little sign 
and turned away. Haworth bent over and pressed his lips 
to Edith’s hands as they lay on the coverlet—first one and 
then the other, and then the first again and then the other 
again. Then he looked once more at the little one, and 
finally let his eyes meet Edith’s in a long embracing look 
that told her everything. After that he rose and tiptoed out 
of the room. Neither of them noticed that not a word had 
been said. They had spoken in a language not crippled by 
words. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 125 


I’ve always had the idea that those innocent and delightful 
people who are born without a trace of what might be re- 
ferred to as economics, and who are unable to acquire enough ~ 
of same for personal use, should have financial guardians 
appointed to help them through. Charles Michael Haworth, 
the inventor, should have had one. 

Everything that he could lay his hands on was expended in 
providing the best possible care for Edith during the period 
of her maternity. No still small voice—indeed, no voice of 
any description—was heard by him in warning against 
overdoing in the matter of present expenditure, as future 
needs were likely to be still greater. 

Haworth could not think of such things. He could think 
only of Edith. And not Edith in the future, but Edith 
now. One day, upon roughly figuring from his check-book 
stubs (which was the only figuring he ever did) he was 
amazed to find that he had very nearly expended the en- 
tire amount deposited from the new loan. Only a few hun- 
dred left, and he needed that for the nurse who was taking 
care of Edith! The doctor had advised keeping some one 
with her for a while, as she was still far from well. 

After a tough night worrying about it, he got old Mrs. 
Temple in and told her that he had come to the place where 
there was no more money for his own use—none at all. All 
the servants must go—the cook and Hulda, even herself, 
for he would be unable to pay any more wages. He was 
sorry, but they must all go. 

“What will you do, sir ?” the old woman asked. 

“Oh, that’s—that’s nothing. Tl be all right.” 

“You won’t be all right without your food, Mr. Haworth.” 

“I can get it somewhere.” He had vague notions of things 


126 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


in tins and oatmeal and baked beans, that he could live on 
for a few cents a day. That money in the bank, every dollar 
of it, must go for the nurse—for the nurse and their food, 
too. Augustus was doing nothing. 

Mrs. Temple went out in a blind sort of way. Soon Hulda 
appeared. 

“She told me, sir.” She came just within the door, em- 
barrassed. 

“Oh yes—about going. I’m sorry.” 

“T—I’d rather stay, Mr. Haworth.” 

“You mustn’t.” 

“If you please, it’s nothing to me about the paying—not — 
till you can.” 

“T don’t see how I ever can, Hulda. And there won’t be 
anything for you to eat—nothing you'd like at all. It’s too 
bad, isn’t it? You've been so good to me, Hulda.” 

A strange convulsion twitched the honest Swedish face 
and a couple of large-sized tears went sliding- down her 
cheeks, upon realizing which, she bolted out of the room. 

Haworth went down into the shop. Not to work; that 
was impossible—impossible even if the power current hadn’t 
been shut off. He stood for half an hour gazing vacantly 
down the long room with the lathes and heavier machines 
lined along one side, the dead power shaft above them, and 
the bench with vises and tool racks and the lighter machines 
along the other. 

Hulda and the cook left four days later, the former mak- 
ing spasmodic swipes across the upper part of her face with 
a bunched-up handkerchief as she stood near the taxi wait- 
ing for them to bring down her trunks. Nothing, however, 
would induce old Mrs. Temple to budge. Haworth’s earnest 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 127 


pleading (on her behalf) that not only would he have no 
money for her wages, but nothing wherewith to buy food 
for her, made no impression on the old woman. She an- — 
nounced that she was a-goin’ to come in an’ see to him an’ he 
might just as well make up his mind to it. Wages wasn’t 
no consequence; he could pay her later when he was doin’ 
well with his inventions. A compromise was finally reached. 
She was to come in once in a while to put things to rights, 
but you may as well know now that the said “once in a while” 
eventually developed into twice in a while and then to three 
times a week; later still, as you will see, to the old woman 
remaining in the house night and day as long as she was able 
to manage it. 


Three months had passed since the baby was born, and 
Edith hadn’t regained her strength. It was absolutely neces- 
sary that she should have proper care and nourishment. The 
doctor continued to visit her at intervals and insisted on the 
importance of having the nurse remain with her. So far 
Haworth had been able to manage these things, but he was 
now close upon the end of his resources, and as time went 
on his anxiety became appalling. 

He had been to a number of machine shops and manufac- 
turing establishments and applied for work. At two places 
he got a chance to try, but in neither did he last more than 
three days. It wasn’t the trouble of earlier years—inability 
to hold his mind concentrated on work that was deadly and 
meaningless repetition. With the tremendous incentive he 
had and the absence of interfering inventive ideas, he could 
have done it. But with his marvelous mechanical knowledge 
he couldn’t compete in cheap rapidity with a boob they might 


128 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


pick up in the street. What he did he must do carefully and 
well. That lifelong habit was absolutely unbreakable, and 
it unfitted him for modern work. It took time. That 
wouldn’t do. 

It came to be the day after to-morrow that he was ex- 
pected to pay the monthly expenses for Edith, and he realized 
that he couldn’t do it. Mrs. Temple saw from the way he 
strode blindly about the house that he was in distress. 
She’d been watching him (without seeming to do so) for 
some hours. Finally she managed to get in his way so that 
he was compelled to stop before her. He hesitated and 
looked at her blankly. 

“Oh, Mrs. Temple. Yes—yes.” 

“T was just thinkin’, Mr. Haworth, there’s furniture in 
this house that you ain’t got any use fur that I c’n see.” 

“Take anything you want, Mrs. Temple.” He turned to 
resume his feverish pacing. 

“No, Mr. Haworth, it wasn’t that!” She was so emphatic 
that he stopped again and stood looking at her. 

“There’s good furniture here, Mr. Haworth. Now that 
sideboard—I don’t see’s you really need it. Maybe I could 
find somebody that’d give a good price for it x 

“What?” 

She repeated what she’d said. 

“Could you find him now ?”’ 

“T’ll have to go in to Boston. There’s a man there 

“Would—would it be enough to—to ‘ 

“T dunno exactly, but that sideboard’s wuth consid’rable; 
and that walnut set in the East Room f a 

“Anything—anything, Mrs. Temple. Please hurry. You 
might lose a chance!’”” And he almost pushed her out of the 


oP 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD ) 129 


room. The enormous relief made him feel really faint and 
he sank into the nearest chair. 


It was more than two months after the sale of the side- 
board—during which interval many other articles of furni- 
ture and four paintings had been disposed of in one way or 
another, together with the largest of his two lathes and his 
shaper and drill press—that Edith heard what was going on. 
The information reached her via Augustus, who kept a close 
watch on Haworth, and observing the trucks of second- 
hand dealers taking these various articles from the man- 
sion, took delight in taunting her with it. 

At once she insisted that the nurse should not remain an- 
other day—that it was entirely unnecessary, as she was 
feeling very much better. She seemed so determined about 
this that the doctor thought best to give way, and told her 
the nurse could go at the end of the month. 

In a letter to Haworth, Edith told him that she was so 
much better that the nurse was going, and that hereafter she 
could manage with very little help—perhaps none at all—as 
Augustus had got a job again and she was going to insist 
that he turn over half his pay to her for household expenses. 
She would miss the nurse, of course, she said, especially 
about getting his letters at the Post Office and taking hers 
there. But she would find some way. 

This letter reached Haworth at a time when he was be- 
ginning again to be frightfully anxious as to where he 
could obtain money to go on with, for he had only a small 
amount left and everything they could find in the house that 
would sell had been disposed of. He was cutting off every 
possible expense, even to half starving himself, pretending 


130 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


to Mrs. Temple, when she came in on one of her “on” days 
and wanted to cook things for him, that he had just eaten 
a hearty meal and couldn’t possibly get down any more. 
He had an empty baked-bean can that he feloniously left 
where she would see it, in order to help with the deception. 

Edith’s letter gave him relief. He sat on his bench in 
the workroom, thinking it over, and before going to bed he 


wrote one to her asking if he couldn’t call and see her before 


the nurse actually left as it was better for him to come while 
she was there. And so it was arranged. 

And the nurse was discreet and left them to themselves. 
And he held the minute bundle of recently arrived humanity 
in his arms a few moments until it protested vigorously on 
account of his profound awkwardness. An exquisite hour 
it was for both of them. But Augustus was informed of 
what had occurred by the small boy he’d hired to keep a look- 
out, and on reaching home that evening was so violent and 
abusive that the nurse started out of the house to bring the 
police, but he called her back, thereafter subsiding into a 
scowling silence, and not long after leaving the house. 


On the following day, along toward afternoon, a car came 
up the drive and the front-door buzzer sounded. Haworth 
opened the door to the physician in whose care Edith had 
been at the hospital and who’d been keeping an eye on her 
since she came back to the Cherry Street cottage. 

“Mr. Haworth, good afternoon.” 

“Oh—the doctor, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, Markham. Met you two or three times at the hos- 
pital. Dropped around to have a little talk.” 

Haworth stood, near to being paralyzed with a frightful 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 131 


dread—some sort of premonition concerning Edith—that 
stopped his heart. 

He was aroused by the doctor’s gently turning him about 
and walking with him into the house. There was no furni- 
ture left in the vast dim hall, and Doctor Markham, seeing 
through the open door on the left that the room beyond had 
at least chairs and a table in it, guided him in there. Haworth 
managed to make a motion toward one of the chairs and 
Doctor Markham seated himself. Then Haworth slowly 
sat down, without once taking his eyes off the doctor. He 
heard a voice saying something about there being no cause 
for alarm and wishing to assure somebody that there was 
nothing that couldn’t be taken care of if the proper steps 
were taken without delay. 

“We've had Mrs. Findlay under observation for some lit- 
tle time,” Doctor Markham went on. “I needn’t tell you 
that the important thing in these cases is to get them in 
time; and while there was no me 

“What cases?” broke in Haworth, who was on the rack. 

“The situation is this, Mr. Haworth: During the time 
Mrs. Findlay was at the hospital we deemed it inadvisable 
to make a thorough examination, for she could hardly have 
failed to realize what we were looking for, and the effect 
on her might have been unfortunate. But we feared a tend- 
ency toward tubercular trouble. We could say nothing more 
at the time.” 

The doctor paused. 

Haworth heard himself repeating huskily, “At that time.” 

axes. 

“But you—you can now?” 

“We've made an examination, Mr. Haworth.” 


132 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Doctor Markham waited a moment and then continued: 
“Fortunately the infection is very slight—only a small tract 
at the top of the left lung. We’re in plenty of time, you 
see, and by sending her to the right locality and making sure 
that she has proper treatment and surroundings, there’s no 
occasion for anxiety. I came to see you about this because 
I don’t know of anyone else. Her husband is out of the 
question. Perhaps you know of some relatives or—or 

Haworth shook his head a little and tried to say “no,” but 
accomplished no more than a movement of his lips. 

“The only thing, then, is to leave it in your hands, Mr. 
Haworth,” the doctor went on, “and I’m very much hoping 
you'll see your way—or—or find a way” (he could not help 
a glance about the poverty-stricken room) “to send her to 
one of the best high-altitude cures, where she'll have a com- 
plete change in every respect :—air—food—sunlight—sur- 
roundings—even language if possible, for every little helps. 
Attitude of mind is an important element you know. Of 
course there are State and other institutions here—all ad- 
mirable in their way. But I’m sure Mrs. Findlay needs 
something more than we can find near at hand. Moreover, 
there’s a child to be considered. That complicates matters 
a little.” 

Haworth sat rigid, his eyes fixed on the physician. 

“I’m going over the case carefully with Doctor Benjamin, 
our lung specialist, and I’ll have you fully informed of the 
steps to be taken. Mrs. Findlay is aware of her condition. 
Just as well, too. She’d have to know very soon in order to 
understand why certain things in the way of treatment are 
necessary.” Doctor Markham understood the situation pretty 
well and felt no resentment nor, indeed, surprise that Ha- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 133 


worth failed to rise from his chair or even seemingly to be 
aware that he was going. He left the young man sitting 
motionless, staring before him. 


Mrs. Temple came in next morning and found Haworth 
in the room on the left, sitting motionless, staring before 
him. He had the appearance of having been there for some 
time, though she had no idea it was so long as since the day 
before. For that matter, neither had he. 

It wasn’t necessary to make an effort to rouse him; he 
looked up at her as she came near and answered her “good 
morning’ absently. Later he took a cup of strong coffee 
she brought, and drank it in compliance with her request. 
Afterward she heard him murmuring faintly and mechan- 
ically, as from force of habit, that he had had all the break- 
fast he wanted and really couldn’t eat any more, so would 
she please not get it for him. She paid no attention to this, 
though, and cooked him an egg with two little ribbons of 
bacon which she had brought over from her own limited 
base of supplies. When she set the tray on a kitchen chair 
by his side he looked up at her gratefully but shook his head 
a little. But when she said, “Please eat it, Mr. Haworth,” 
he did so. Afterward, when she had gone back to the kitchen 
and was washing the dishes he came out and asked if she 
could take a note to Mrs. Findlay for him and bring back 
an answer. He explained how to get there, and she started 
at once, without waiting to finish the dishes. There was a 
strange and disquieting look in his eyes that she hadn’t 
seen in them before. 

He had scribbled in pencil, “I must see you—I must—I 
must.” And the answer came back, “Darling—oh, my dar- 


134 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


ling, please don’t be worried—it will be all right. Come 
to-morrow—three is the best time.” 


When he was with her once more and she with him, there 
wasn’t much that could be said. It was mostly the two 
silent ones clinging to each other, feeling even then that the 
dread specter was standing over them, making ready to tear 
them eternally apart; yet each managed to find a few words 
of encouragement, Edith stopping his eyes with kisses when 
they turned that terrified look on her, and telling him there 
wasn’t any danger at all—that she felt so perfectly well; 
he muttering about a patent he might sell, and anyway there 
were other things he had in mind, so that she’d have every 
care and be sent to a place where cure was certain. 

And then there was the little one—Mildred they were 
going to name her—sound asleep on the near-by couch! It 
was inconceivable that tragedy could come to such an inno- 
cent! He sat for a long time looking down at the child, 
with Edith’s hand, now so white and thin, pressed against 
his lips. 

While he was there the maddening inability to do what 
would save her seemed not to burn into him so mercilessly. 
It was when he left her and was back in the vast and gloomy 
house with its shadowy candlelight and bareness of furniture 
that these things returned upon him and assaulted him with 
their full force. And something that made it still more ter- 
rible was lying on the table in the living room, awaiting 
his return—the large envelope from Doctor Markham’s office 
containing the specialist’s report. An agonizing thing to 
read, yet he did not hesitate. 

Mrs, Findlay was in a serious condition. Though much 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 135 


of the detail was beyond his comprehension, he had no dif- 
ficulty in understanding that. No time must be lost in get- 
ting her to one of the high-altitude cures. Switzerland was | 
recommended as most desirable for one of her type. There 
were several that were held to be as beneficial in the United 
States, but for Mrs. Findlay they were not to be preferred 
if it were possible to send her abroad. 

Haworth saw it all. To save her life she must be sent to 
one of those places—and little Mildred taken care of. And 
there was no one but himself to do it,—no one. 

Mrs. Temple, pretending to be busy with an unusual 
amount of cleaning, managed to hover near, not annoying 
him as he sat distracted or moved blindly about the house, 
but ready at any time to do what she could—for she saw 
there was serious trouble. Along toward seven o’clock she — 
made tea and cooked a small chop she’d bought while he 
was away. When she asked him to come and have his sup- 
per, he stared at her vacantly, seeming not to know what 
she meant; but it came to him after a little, and he seated 
himself at the table in the small breakfast room without fur- 
ther urging, drinking and eating, but plainly without an idea 
of what he was doing. _ 

Afterward he wandered back into the living room, be- 
having somewhat as people probably do when they’re walk- 
ing in their sleep—I never saw one. 

The old woman glanced in occasionally while doing the 
dishes, and saw each time that he was sitting there staring 
into vacancy, the pallor of his face emphasizing the dark- 
ness of his deep-set eyes. She was greatly worried, and 
wasn’t going home that night, no matter what! He might 
be taken ill or something. She would lie down on the old 


136 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


lounge she’d found in the loft of the barn and brought into 
the kitchen when all the good furniture was taken away. The 
last thing before doing this she stole quietly to the door and 
looked in again. Mr. Haworth hadn’t moved from the chair 
nor changed his position in any way. She went back to 
the kitchen and stretched herself on the ancient and moth- 
eaten sofa. It was a warm evening and she needed no 
covering. It seemed only a few moments after she fell 
asleep that she was suddenly awakened by the sound of 
violent knocking or pounding that apparently came from 
somewhere in the basement. She listened for a few seconds, 
alarmed, her old heart doing a corresponding pounding of 
its own. Haworth hadn’t worked down there for months, 
and it seemed incredible that he would suddenly go at it 
again at such an hour, and with the terrible thing, whatever 
it was, that seemed to be pressing on his mind. 

But Mrs. Temple was game, if ever a woman was. It 
was hardly two ticks after the pounding began before she 
was feeling her way down the basement stairs. 

It was Haworth at work, and not in his shop, but some 
distance beyond it. She could see him by the light of the 
lamp he’d placed near. He had a lot of weather-beaten 
boards or planks that had apparently been dragged in 
through one of the basement windows. She couldn’t think 
where he’d got them, unless it was from the old barn at 
the rear of the house. Out of these he was building a par- 
tition, so far as the old woman could make out, and he was 
evidently in a fever of haste about it, knocking and clawing 
out old nails, sawing boards in lengths, and then nailing 
them to upright timbers or studding set in a way so they 
would wall off a small-sized room. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 137 


Even Haworth’s furious activity which she now beheld, 
seemed better to her than having him sit rigid, staring at 
nothing, with some hidden anguish eating his heart out; and | 
she thought best not to disturb him. So, after watching 
him a few moments she turned away and went back up 
the stairs, and as soon as she'd got herself quieted a little, 
lay down again on the old lounge. But not to sleep. She 
didn’t expect that. How could she while hearing this dearly 
beloved young man in his frenzied fit of work, to which he 
was driven by some desperation the cause of which she 
could not guess? 

It was still going on when the morning sunlight struck in 
through one of the windows, and did not cease until she 
went down to him with coffee and toast on a tray. He 
stopped when she spoke, and stood an instant looking at her. 
Then he thanked her, but really he didn’t want anything. 
This behavior she considered much nearer to what was nor- 
mal with him than the way he’d acted at supper the night 
before—eating everything without a word. Indeed, Mrs. 
Temple was so much encouraged by his refusal to take any- 
thing, that she went further and insisted. He must take it 
now while it was hot, and she set the tray on the plank he 
was just then sawing. On this the young fellow came to 
terms and drank the coffee and ate the toast—very hur- 
riedly to be sure, and with eyes roving about the structure 
he was engaged upon; but he “got it down,” as Mrs. Tem- 
ple said to herself, “and that’s the main thing!’ 

In three or four minutes he was working again, and with 
the same feverish haste—the same madness to have it fin- 
ished. 


138 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


It was late the previous night that the thing had occurred 
to him. He’d been sitting where Mrs. Temple last saw him, 
all hope gone, crushed, stunned, overcome. All at once, 
without warning, he found himself standing erect and with 
a plan or conception in his mind which promised, on its first 
occurring to him, to be something which would certainly 
turn defeat into victory. The central idea of the thing, with 
its most extraordinary possibilities for profit, came to him 
as a whole, and from that he began rapidly to develop it. 
For nearly an hour he stood there intensely occupied with 
this, feeling positive that he had something which would 
enable him to save the life of the one so dear to him. To- 
ward the end of that time the vital necessity for secrecy 
began to dawn on him and then to rise rapidly into tremen- 
dous importance, until he suddenly came to the realization 
that it was at the basis of everything—that without it the 
invention would be valueless—so much junk. He decided 
at once to build a room in the basement where the device 
could be constructed without the slightest danger that knowl- 
edge of its purpose or mechanism would leak out. Bars 
and padlocks. Timbers from the old barn back of the house. 
Almost before he knew what he was doing he found himself 
out there with hammer and chisel and cross-cut saw. He 
took the lamp that Mrs. Temple had left lighted on the table, 
and drove at the business frantically. Time—time—time! 
The doctors said delay might turn the scales against her. 

In a couple of hours he had enough timber ripped off and 
dragged to the basement to begin on, and at it he went, 
startling Mrs. Temple—of whose presence in the house he 
was unaware—out of a sound sleep. 

Working with the same desperate drive all the next day 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 139 


and well into the succeeding night, he had the small room 
entirely planked up by two in the morning, the partitions 
build up solid to the floor joists of the room above. 

He was at it again the morning following, and Mrs. Tem- 
ple knew from the muffling of the sound, as she heard it in 
the kitchen, that he had now closed himself into the new 
room and was working inside. 

There isn’t a doubt in the world that Charles Michael 
Haworth would have starved himself to death at this time 
but for Mrs. Temple. Without a word of remonstrance or 
fault-finding she simply took things as they came and hus- 
tled about to do what she could. Sometimes she was able 
to induce a grocer or market man to give a little more credit. 
Failing that, she’d go home to her lodgings (a small room 
in a tenement building of forbidding aspect) and pull a 
battered old trunk from under the bed. After looking about 
to satisfy herself that no spectators were present, she'd 
reach in under the clothing which partly filled it, and bring 
up a cigar box, from which the old woman would surrep- 
titiously and with a snatching motion, take out a dollar or 
two, quite in the manner of one engaged in a robbery of 
some kind. Very well she knew that this little hoard had 
been put by for a rainy day, and nearly always she’d mum- 
ble to herself, “Well if this ain’t one, what is it I’d like to 
‘know!’ as she pilfered it. The money was quickly ex- 
changed for groceries. 

She brought his food to him in the basement, putting the 
dishes on an upturned barrel near the little room where he 
was working. Then she’d call to him that it was there and 
at once hurry away upstairs again. He wouldn’t open the 
door while she was in the basement. For sleep he took 


140 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


what little he got like a Chinese laundryman, dropping down 
where he was when exhausted and resuming his hectic labor 
the instant consciousness returned. 

There was only one outside interruption during the time 
Haworth was driving to finish the apparatus or device he 
was working on, and that a brief one. Two young men 
came to the house one morning, and so impressed old Mrs. 
Temple (who answered the bell) with the importance of 
their errand—assuring her that instead of being after money 
they wanted to pay Mr. Haworth some—that she went 
down and talked to him through the partition about it. It 
resulted in his finally putting on his coat and going up to 
see what they wanted. He found them on the front portico. 
Although Mrs. Temple had asked them in, they seemed, for 
some reason, to prefer waiting outside. 

Certainly the one who did the talking did it well. He 
was a reporter from one of the Boston papers and had in 
view a story for the Sunday supplement. This recluse 
inventor had become quite a subject of remark in his near 
neighborhood, and something of general interest might be 
got out of it. Realizing from what he’d heard that Haworth 
would be a ticklish proposition to handle, he said nothing 
about the real object of his visit, but pretended instead that 
he wanted to buy one of his inventions. His talk was so 
earnest, so glib, so voluble, that Haworth was led into an- 
swering quite a lot of questions about his life, habits of 
work, etc., before he realized what he was doing, and alto- 
gether failed to notice that during this time the other chap 
(who was a photographer) was dodging about in different 
places, carrying a peculiar box-like affair in his hands. It 
was this latter that brought an abrupt end to the interview, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD — | 141 


for Haworth’s ear, trained to a hair on mechanical sounds, 
suddenly caught the click of a camera, and turning on the 
instant, he got a fleeting glimpse of the thing focused on 
him before the young man had time to drop it down. After 
a second’s pause he turned on his heel and went into the 
house, closing the door firmly, though not violently, behind 
him. The reporter chap was disappointed, as he had it laid 
out to see the inside and look over the inventions after they 
had the photographs taken. But with the pictures they had 
there was enough stuff to go on with, and he could do a bit 
of imaginary work for the interior. 

Three weeks—even working under forced draft as he did 
—was quick time in which to finish what Haworth had 
undertaken. He had one thing in his favor, though, which 
counted for not a little: the parts he had to get out were 
large and simple—heavy wooden shafts and levers, smooth- 
running pulleys with cords and weights, a great heavy pen- 
dulum with escapement device—parts like that, and all on 
a scale involving no complicated adjustments. Whatever 
lathe-work was necessary he managed on the small lathe— 
it was only the large one that had been sold. He had to rig 
it for foot power, but that was a comparatively simple mat- 
ter. 

On an evening which was near to the end of this period of 
drastic toil, Haworth sent Mrs. Temple on an errand so that 
he could test his mechanism out. He found that with some 
minor changes and readjustments that took him, notwith- 
standing the furious drive he put into it, a day and a half 
longer, the device operated with certainty and precision. 
Mad to complete it as he was, he realized that it must be © 
unerring in its performance. The slightest thing amiss or 


142 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


out of adjustment would not only have spelled disaster, but 
pronounced it. 


It was late one afternoon when Haworth was finally 
able to say to himself that the mechanism was complete and 
its operation satisfactory. As early the next morning as 
he thought likely people would have arrived in their offices 
or places of business, he started out to find some one who 
would purchase the rights for the handling and exploitation 
of his novel mechanical conception; and before evening of 
that same day he had come home stunned and stricken with 
the realization that all his work had been of no avail. For 
it had never occurred to the young inventor that the abso- 
lute secrecy upon which the value of his device depended, 
could at the same time prove an insurmountable obstacle 
in the way of disposing of it. Not until he went out and 
tried to make a sale did this unfortunate situation reveal 
itself. Then, and at once, he made the terrifying discov- 
ery that he couldn’t possibly describe his mechanism and 
its tremendous monetary possibilities until he was perfectly 
certain that he was doing so to the man who would buy it; 
for there could be no possibility of anyone taking hold of 
it and agreeing to pay the large sum of money that he 
(Haworth) must have, as well as assuming the heavy ex- 
pense of manufacture and general promoting, unless given 
a full description of the invention and its operation, to- 
gether with his plans connected with its exploitation. If ever 
there was a vicious circle on earth, this was one—and not 
much distance to go in circumnavigating it. 

The truth came to him with a shock; indeed, he got the 
shock before his conscious mind was aware of the truth. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 143 


He had gone to a man he used occasionally to meet at the 
mansion while old Mr. Cripps was alive. This gentleman 
and Mr. Cripps seemed quite friendly, and the latter once. 
mentioned that Mr. Hollister (the gentleman’s name) had 
just made a big pile of money on some patent he owned. | 
Haworth hadn’t seen him since those days. His office was 
in a large building on Beacon Street a little way up from 
Tremont, and Haworth was there before ten in the morning. 
It was his first attempt to sell. 

Mr. Hollister received him graciously—an elderly gentle- 
man with a sharp Yankee face, though kindly at that. While 
he was quite disturbed by Haworth’s appearance—his ex- 
treme emaciation and ghastly pale face with the feverish fire 
burning in his eyes—he showed no sign of it, and after mak- 
ing him sit down by his desk and remarking on the num- 
ber of years since they’d met, asked if there was anything 
he could do for him. 

Haworth began at once to explain that he’d just perfected 
a mechanical novelty regarding which he would like to in- 
terest him. He had built, in the basement of the house, a 
full-sized working model—in fact, the machine itselfi—for 
in the exploitation, or you might say output, of the thing, lay 
the large money-making possibilities. He was going on 
glibly enough with this sort of talk—for he was feverishly 
excited and spoke rapidly—when he suddenly and unex- 
pectedly came up against the insurmountable obstacle. At 
the time he did not know what it was;—he was only aware 
that something had stopped him dead. There was a silence 
for a full minute. Then, his mind a sickening blank, he 
began to stammer out a few disconnected words, after which 
he was silent again and sat staring. 


144 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Mr. Hollister, who’d been more than eager to hear what 
Haworth had in the way of an invention, supposed the young 
man had been taken suddenly ill (he certainly looked it) and 
hastened to get him a drink. But it was all over. The 
young fellow couldn’t go on. And finally, in a blind sort of 
way, he got up from his chair and walked dizzily out of the 
office. 

The elder man followed to the elevator, quite solicitous ; 
asking if there wasn’t something he could do, and making 
efforts to learn what the trouble was. But Haworth shook 
his head weakly, the elevator door clanged, and he dropped 
silently out_of sight. 

As he came out at the street entrance of the building he 
moved along the wall a short distance and stood there, his 
eyes strained wide open. The blow was so sudden and 
smashing that he was dazed, not realizing what had struck 
him. He’d been there for hardly more than a minute when 
the traffic policeman from the Tremont corner came hur- 
trying along. A lady had reported that something was the 
matter with a man leaning against a building a little way 
up Beacon. The moment he saw Haworth he ran across 
the street to him and asked what was wrong. 

The young man shook his head a little, but was unable to 
speak. 

“Live here in Boston?” the officer inquired. 

“Out—Roxbury.” 

“What’s the street?” 

“Torrington.” 

“Some ways. I'll send a taxi.” 

“No, please don’t!” Haworth was suddenly emphatic. “I 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD “146 


can get home all right!’ Saying which, he turned and walked 
ursteadily up the street. | 


He found himself awhile later, without knowing how he 
got there, seated on the bench in the Public Garden where 
he and Edith had been—ages ago—ages ago. He was try- 
ing to remember what he’d said to Mr. Hollister, with the 
vague idea of finding out what it was that had stopped him 
in the midst of the interview. 

It’s an odd thing, isn’t it, what the human mind’ll do to 
you! While he was talking in the office there, running as 
smooth as you like, the brakes suddenly went on, the wheels 
creaked, and he came to a dead stop, and all without the 
slightest volition on his part. Now, as he sat there near 
the pond and the shouting children, he slowly came to a 
realization of the reason why a certain safety device installed 
‘somewhere in his mental machinery, had automatically 
brought him to a standstill. It would be impossible to ex- 
plain the device and its operation to anyone without ruin- 
ing every chance it had. That is, unless the people he ex- 
plained it to took st—and how could he be sure they would? 

Suddenly, after a length of time of which he had no idea, 
he got to his feet. There was hope yet! A ray of hope! 

He would think up some sort of similar affair—a propo- 
sition involving the same sort of risks yet in reality nothing 
like it.. This he would describe to a man he was trying to 
interest in the thing, speaking of it casually, not as anything 
of his own, but as an odd thing he’d heard of—a man he 
knew had\gone into it, and so on. From the remarks and 
behavior of a person to whom he described this similar 
proposition, it was Haworth’s idea that he could gain a 


146 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


pretty clear indication as to whether the man would go into 
such a thing himself if he got the opportunity ; and when he 
found one who would, he could safely let him know exactly 
what it was. | 

There was no time to waste. He walked rapidly away, 
trying mightily to conceive of some scheme that would give 
hazards corresponding to his own, yet bearing no dangerous 
similarity to it. 

Among the few men with whom he had had business 
dealings, he selected the manager of a machine shop—one 
Mat Williams—as being the most likely to be attracted. By 
the time he got to Williams’s place he had something roughly 
thought out to test him with, and as soon as he could get 
him aside he began telling about a friend of his who had 
gone into a most unusual enterprise—which enterprise he 
described at length. Williams was naturally astonished that 
Haworth should come there to tell him an absurd and ap- 
parently pointless anecdote, and when the young man began 
demanding avidly what he thought of it, Williams decided 
that the fellow had gone completely off his nut. He was 
sorry, but the only course seemed to be to get rid of him as 
soon as possible, which he did, smoothing things over with 
pleasant talk and a hurried handshake. 

Haworth was cut up a bit, though he had no idea how 
bad it really was. But as he tried one after another with 
his singular method of diagnosing their speculative propen- 
sities, and found that every one of them, instead of talking 
business, tried to get away from him as soon as he possibly 
could, his hope began to ebb. 

From one to another he went, despairingly yet without 
thought of surrender, coming to expect their glances of sur- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 147 


prise, followed sometimes by alarm, and again by something 
akin to pity. He accepted these various expressions as they 
came, entirely unable to account for them, realizing only 
_ that one after another of those he approached on the sub- 
ject appeared to have a strange antipathy to hearing any- 
thing about the hypothetical cases he hit on to try them 
with, and hurried away from him at the first available op- 
portunity. 


It was impossible that the night, when it came, should 
be anything but a distressing one for Haworth. Though 
approaching people about his machine had come, in this 
short space of time, to be about as enjoyable as so many 
executions for murder, the poor fellow would rather have 
gone on with it than lie helpless while his mind grappled 
with his monstrous predicament. 

After a time, when the torture of the thing passed the 
point of endurance, he would stagger blindly to his feet and 
stride about at a tremendous pace, having no realization of 
where he was. This happened several times during the night. 

The morning saw him out again with his white, emaciated 
face and threadbare clothing, going mechanically from one 
place to another in his vain search for some one he could 
rely on as a purchaser—a most doubtful enterprise at the 
best, but put in the perfectly hopeless class by his eccentric 
management of it, together with his disturbing appearance 
and behavior. 

He hunted up several speculators who had once been 
friendly with old Mr. Cripps, and quite frequently, in those 
days, guests at the house; he went to Mr. Trescott and even 
to the manager of the bank with which he had had some 


148 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


modest dealings in time gone by. But there wasn’t one of 
those he approached with his misguided efforts to test them 
out, who was not quite convinced, after listening to him a 
moment, that the poor fellow was mildly insane. Mr. Tres- 
cott was quite saddened by it, yet hardly surprised. 

The day following was Sunday, and after a hideous night 
of despair he had fallen into a sort of stupor that lasted 
until the middle of the afternoon. When he finally roused 
himself from it (he had been sitting in a chair since the night 
before) the realization of his dreadful dilemma came upon 
him with appalling intensity, and he went to pacing about the 
house in a manner that filled Mrs. Temple with a new alarm. 
There was a frantic desperation about it that terrified the old 
woman, and it was some time before she got her courage 
up to speak to him. She finally succeeded in waylaying him 
in the narrow back hall, but he strode past without appear- 
ing to see her, crowding her against the side wall as he did 
so, but of course without any idea of what he was doing. 

She recovered herself as soon as she could and made an- 
other effort to get his attention, this time calling out to him 
that he mustn’t go on that way—he’d kill himself! But it 
seemed impossible to make him hear. 

For more than an hour she listened to his tramping about, 
sometimes on the floor above, sometimes in the large en- 
trance hall or other rooms on the ground floor, but never 
in the basement. 

Suddenly, when it was getting on toward four o'clock, 
there was a dull, muffled noise apparently coming from one 
of the rooms above, as of something falling heavily on the 
floor, and with it the sound of tramping ceased. Though 
she felt her legs weakening under her, she toiled up the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 149 


main stairway. Looking down the upper hall, she could 
see from the light striking through it into the corridor that 
the door of the room Mrs. Findlay had occupied was open - 
-—something unusual, for he’d always kept it closed and 
~ locked. 

She hurried, limping, down the hall and went to the door. 

Haworth was lying face down on the floor, his head rest- 
ing on his arms. 

Mrs. Temple hastened to him, possessed only of the ter- 
rifying thought that he was dead, and sank down on the 
floor at his side. ... No! He was breathing! Gently 
shaking him by the shoulder, she called his name. 

At first there was no response, but after a little he spoke 
in a voice that was half a whisper, and without raising his 
head asked her please to go away—he didn’t want to be 
disturbed. Would she please go? 

The old woman struggled to her feet and brought a pil- 
low from another room, feeling he wouldn’t like her to 
disturb the pillows in this one. Kneeling on the floor beside 
him, she gently raised his head and put the pillow under it. 
Then, with all the haste she was able to make, she set out for 
a drug store, half a mile away on Center Street. 

On reaching the place she had to wait a moment before 
she could recover breath enough to ask the clerk if he could 
tell her where she could find a good doctor for Mr. Haworth. 
~. . Yes, Over at the Cripps mansion. .... Yes indeed, it 
was very serious and some one ought to see him. 

The clerk had, that very morning, been reading a full- 
page write-up in one of the Sunday supplements, in which 
the house on Torrington Road and its singular occupant 
had been fully described and illustrated. For this reason 


150 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


he was instantly interested, and volunteered himself to tele- 
phone to Doctor Crimmin’s office. If the doctor wasn’t in 
he’d leave word for him to go out there as soon as he came. 

Mrs. Temple thanked him and hurried away. When she 
got to her lodgings she carefully closed the door, pulled out 
the old trunk, reached down under the clothing in it, and 
brought up the cigar box, from which she took three silver 
quarters, muttering to herself as she seized them: “Rainy 
day! I should think so! It’s one o’ them cloudbursts !” 

With these coins gripped in her withered hands, she 
went to the nearest grocery store and bought four eggs, a 
loaf of bread, ten cents’ worth of tea, and a small glass jar 
of milk, and then made all possible haste back to the man- 
sion. 


I never could find out—for certainly Haworth had no 
idea, and what other witnesses were there?—how long it 
was after Mrs. Temple left him face down on the floor of 
his room, that he became aware of the sounding of the 
front-door “buzzer.” Few in his distracted state of mind 
would have noticed it, nor would he had not his years of 
mechanical training made him ultrasensitive to such sounds. 
Sensitive also to the condition of such mechanisms and in- 
struments, as shown by his never failing to keep the electric 
bell system of the house in perfect working order, no mat- 
ter what dilapidations befell elsewhere. 

Again the buzzer sounded on the floor below, echoing 
through the bare half-furnished rooms. Haworth found 
himself vaguely realizing that Mrs. Temple wasn’t in the 
house or she’d have answered the first ring. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 151 


Slowly he got to his feet, descended the stairs, and cross- 
ing the great hall to the front door, opened it. 


Mr. Pentecost——who had that morning read a Sunday 
supplement write-up with headings about the “Hermit In- 
ventor of West Roxbury,” and had come out there (instead 
of taking an afternoon express for New York as he had 
planned) to see if possibly some one of the devices the “Her- 
mit Inventor” had on hand might not come in nicely for his 
partner’s (Mr. Harker’s) activities—had hardly a doubt 
that it was the inventor himself standing before him in the 
doorway. And although, owing to the overshadowing elms 
and the roof and pillars of the portico above and behind 
him, he found it difficult to see with any distinctness, he got 
an instant impression, from a certain paleness of face that 
was almost luminous and a peculiarity in the young fellow’s 
attitude or manner, that something was wrong with him. 

The two stood silent a moment, for something made the 
commonplace salutation Pentecost had in mind seem quite © 
inappropriate, and it was the young man who finally spoke. 

“What is it?” .he asked in a hollow voice, slightly trem- 
ulous. 

“T beg your pardon,” Pentecost hastened to say. “I called 
to see Mr. Haworth.” 

“What about?” still with a quivering note of near-tragedy. 

“Are you Mr. Haworth?” 

“Yes but I don’t want to see anybody. Please go 
away.” And he was turning back into the house. 

“One moment! It’s business—entirely business—I’m sure 
you'll be interested.” 

“T don’t think so,” came the hollow voice out of the gloomy 


152 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


half light, and it was evident the young man was about to 
close the door. 

“Mr. Haworth!’’ Pentecost spoke sharply. ‘“Can’t you 
listen half a minute? It concerns us both—and I can’t very 
well talk about it here.”’ 

Haworth stared at him an instant and then, opening the 
door a little wider, made a slight motion of invitation. 

Pentecost stepped in with a muttered, ‘‘You’re very kind,” 
and glanced quickly about the vast entrance hall in which 
he found himself—an enormous place two stories in height 
and with a great stairway at the further end rising to a land- 
ing and from that branching to each side. The place was 
seemingly quite destitute of furniture or floor covering, and 
he found himself wondering how the young man had man- 
aged to make no sound when he crossed it to open the door. 
He would look at his feet later, when there was more light; 
it was very dim in the hall. 

Closing the massive front door, Haworth moved to the 
large double doorway on the left—on the left as you enter the 
house, I mean—and stood waiting for his caller to enter be- 
fore him. Pentecost did so and found himself in a large and 
lofty room with high paneled wainscoting of some dark 
wood, and a white marble mantel on the side opposite as he 
came in. There were two large windows in that wall—one 
on either side of the fireplace, though not near it; and an- 
other in the wall at his left which faced off toward Torring- 
ton Road. At the further end of the room—which was 
quite a distance, as it was an exceedingly long one—were 
two doors, one of which (a swing door held partly open by 
a chair shoved against it) revealed a butler’s pantry beyond. 
This large apartment was evidently the dining room—or 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 153 


once had been. The wainscoting, heavily built and with 
deeply set panels, was fully six feet high and extended en- 
tirely around it. | 

Though somewhat shadowed, this room was lighter than 
the great hall, and he saw mechanical blue-prints and draw- 
ings laid out on a cheap kitchen table near the middle of it, 
with small tools and implements scattered about. Books 
and papers were piled and balanced here and there. The 
floor was covered with what had once been a handsome 
carpet—now worn and threadbare. The windows, he noticed, 
had cheap roller shades to them—but judging from the 
cornices and rich but faded lambrequins above—had once 
evidently had the heavy draperies of an earlier fashion. 

Pentecost was an instantaneous observer, requiring no 
time exposure, so that there had hardly been a pause when he 
turned to speak to Haworth. But Haworth wasn’t there. 
He had followed into the room after Pentecost, but had 
slipped to one side and was now wandering back and forth 
along the wall toward the further end. He appeared to 
have forgotten the other’s presence, and his eyes shifted 
about, giving him the look of one tortured by some harrow- 
ing, thought or memory. In a few moments his restless 
glance accidentally fell on Pentecost and he came to a sudden 
stop and stood staring at him. 

“Oh—you!” he muttered, half to himself. 

“Quite right,” said Pentecost. 

“Well, what is it?’ the young man asked, moving toward 
him. 

“Perhaps I ought not to have intruded like this.” 

“As you have,’ came back the hollow voice out of the 
gloom, “why don’t you tell me what you want?” 


154 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“It’s a matter of some importance to us and I thought it 
might be to you. I represent a firm Great God! what’s 
the matter?” 

For as Haworth approached him out of the shadows at 
the far end of the room and the light from the front window 
fell on his face, Pentecost saw it distinctly for the first 
time, and the eyes that looked out at him from the drawn 
and almost distorted features might have been those of a 
drowning man. 

“Matter?” the young man repeated. 

“Why—yes. Are you—are you feeling all right Mr. 
Haworth?” 

“You said you came about something important.” 

“Yes—I did—but perhaps you i 

“Tf it’s money I owe you take anything you want and go 
away—that’s all—go away!’’ Saying which, Haworth turned 
and started walking restlessly about the room as he was 
doing before. 

“Not at all—not at all! There’s nothing like that! It’s 
just the other way—I’m going to put a few dollars in your 
pocket if you’ve got anything I can use.” 

Haworth, half-way down the room, swung round with a 
look of such fearful and desperate avidity that Pentecost 
saw at once it was a case of money. The young fellow was 
in some dire extremity—some feverish need that mere des- 
titution, even to the point of starvation, wouldn’t explain. 
Couldn’t be a more favorable situation for business. Easy 
to drive him to the wall and get one of his inventions for a 
block of stock—in other words, for nothing. 

“I represent a firm of promoters—New York—Harker & 
Pentecost.” He took a card from his pocketbook. ‘“We’re 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 155 


always looking for novelty—something different from any- 
thing that’s been on the market before.” 

Mr. Pentecost paused, but the young man said nothing, 
and he went on: “It came to us a short time ago that you 
had some extraordinary inventions here and if iy 

“There’s nothing you’d want,’ Haworth interrupted. 

“But perhaps—if you’d allow me to see what ms 

“There’s no use in that! They come—hundreds of them 
—just want me to let them see. Then they’re sorry, but 
there’s nothing of practical use. That’s it—always nothing 
practical—always—always!’’ He moved away. 

“It’s nothing to me whether the thing’s practical or not!” 

Haworth stopped and stood looking at him. 

“I’m not looking for carpet sweepers,” Pentecost went on, 
“or fireless cookers or any of those things that people are 
tired of reading advertisements about. The thing I’m after 
is novelty—something absolutely new and unheard of— 
something impressive in its operation so we can exploit it 
and give ita chance. Now it struck me from what I heard, 
that your work would perhaps be just the kind " 

He was halted in the midst of his talk by the way Haworth 
was staring at him. It wouldn’t have surprised him to get 
an indication on the fellow’s face that he’d just thought of 
one of his devices that would be what was wanted. But 
that wasn’t it. For soon he saw that the young inventor was 
studying him—figuring out what sort of a character he really 
was. ‘Those strange and troubled eyes were fixed on him 
with an intense scrutiny that penetrated below the surface. 

To divert this rather too close attention to himself, Pente- 
cost spoke with more emphasis than before. 

“T see you've thought of something, Mr. Haworth.” 


156 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


There was no verbal response to this, but a barely percep- 
tible motion of his head while still gazing intently at Pen- 
tecost, might be taken to mean that he had. 

“Anything near what we’re looking for, do you think?” 

“T don’t know.” 

“T hope it’s something unusual,” Pentecost said, cheer- 
fully ; “some novelty that’ll make ’em talk.” 

“Tt will do that.” 

“What made you say just now that you hadn’t anything 
I’d want?” 

“This is something else.” 

Pentecost-was inclined to think the fellow had illusions. 
Anyone could see there was something wrong with him. 

“Well, bring it along,” he suggested. “Let’s have a look 
att. 

The answer was a slight negative head-shake. 

“Too heavy ?” 

“Tt’s built in.” 

“Where ?” 

“Under here—in the basement.” 

“IT see. Something to operate in a home. What does it 
do?” 

“I want you to come down.” 

“Certainly, Mr. Haworth. Lead the way.” 

Notwithstanding that Pentecost felt convinced that the 
young man had signals set for some sort of brain storm and 
that he himself knew a thing or two about basements in 
relation to crime, the notion of not going down there when 
the distracted inventor suggested the idea, didn’t come within 
miles of occurring to him. He had a hunch there was some- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 157 


thing here for him—something extraordinary, too—and he 
was going after it. 

Haworth moved nearer. “Mr. What did you say 
your is 

“Pentecost.” 

“Mr. Pentecost, I’ve decided to tell you everything.” 

“The best thing you could do Mr. Haworth.” 

“T find you’re the person I’ve been looking for.” ! 

“You're very kind to say so. Shall we go down and have 
a look at it?” 

From Haworth’s last remark, Pentecost feared that after 
all he was hopeless. 

“Till get the key.” 

“Secret, eh?” 

7 Ves.” 

“No patent?” 

Haworth shook his head. 

“What about the people you’ve shown it to?” 


“There are none.” | 

“And you haven’t told anybody?” 

“No.” 

That sounded better. The chap had some sort of sense, 
anyway. But not the sense to patent it. That was too bad. 

“The key’s upstairs.” And he started toward the en- 
trance hall. 

“Could we switch on a light here, Mr. Haworth? It’s a 
trifle overcast.” 

“Tl tell Mrs. Temple to light a lamp,” the young man 
answered from the door, and he hurried out. 

So they’d cut off his current, Pentecost reflected—for he’d 


158 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


noticed electric fixtures about. Although hardly late enough 
for twilight, there was much the same thing in this vast and 
gloomy room with its dark walls and tree-shaded and vine- 
overgrown windows. Pentecost wanted to see what—if 
anything—was going on here. Something made him feel 
that whatever it was might be turned to his advantage. | 

Soon after Haworth left the room, Pentecost saw in the 
dimness the frail figure of a woman coming toward the table 
from the further end. Mrs. Temple, probably—the one 
he’d spoken of. He saw from her unsteady gait and bent 
figure that she was old and somewhat decrepit, and the mo- 
mentary clicking of the lamp chimney against the glass shade 
as she took it off told of her trembling hands. 

The old woman had reached home with her modest 
packages of food only a few moments before, and was 
greatly relieved as she passed down the flagged footpath to 
the kitchen, to catch a glimpse of Mr. Haworth through a 
side window of the living room; for it was evidence that he 
had recovered sufficiently to come downstairs. An instant 
later she saw that he wasn’t alone. A strange man—at least 
a stranger to her—was standing near the table and appeared 
to be watching the young fellow intently as he moved about. 
Then it came to her that he must be the doctor. Who else 
could it be? He certainly had the look of one with his close 
trimmed beard—and watching Mr. Haworth like that. 

After getting the lamp shade and chimney off, Mrs. 
Temple groped about and found a match somewhere; but 
instead of striking it she straightened up—so far as she 
could—and after a glance at the door spoke in a low voice. 

“You're the doctor, ain’t ye?” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 159 


“No, madam,’ Pentecost answered. 
_ Mrs. Temple stared blankly at him, seeming for some rea- 
son to be astonished. “You ain’t?” she finally said. | 

“Certainly not. Are you feeling ill, madam?’ 

“Me?” looking at him in a surprised sort of way. “No!” 

After an instant she again bent over the lamp and lighted 
it, regulating the flame by the little brass disk at the side. 
Pentecost saw her thin, withered old hands trembling under 
the light. 

“Perhaps it’s Mr. Haworth who isn’t well?” he ventured. 

The old woman looked at him. ‘You ain’t blind, be ye?” 
she asked. 

“Not exactly, madam,” with a trace of asmile. “I saw he 
wasn’t looking quite right fi 

“It’s a great sight more’n not lookin’ right!” Then she 
turned to him suddenly. “What ’re you doin’ here?” she de- 


manded sharply, yet keeping her voice subdued. 

“TI came on business.” 

“Well ef it’s money you’re after you can talk to me. He 
ain’t in no condition to be pestered ; you ain’t got much jedg- 
ment about ye ef ye can’t see that.” 

“But my dear madam, I assure you | 

“Sh!” She was fussing with the lamp as Haworth came 
in. 

“‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, seeing her bending over 
it. ““Won’t it work?” 

“Ves,” she said, stooping and looking under the shade. 
“T guess it’s liable to go now.” 

“T want to take it downstairs, Mrs. Temple This 
way, Mr. Pentecost.” The latter followed him across the 


bP] 


160 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


great bare hall, to a door under the branching stairway on 
the left, and through this to a back hall at the further end of 
which the basement stairway descended. 

Mrs. Temple stood motionless at the table where they’d left 
her. Strange as it may seem when you realize the briefness 
of the time, this decrepit old woman, bent and knotted with 
rheumatism, her hands tremulous with the palsy of age, 
had conceived a deep and implacable distrust of the man 
she had just heard addressed as Mr. Pentecost. She didn’t 
reason about it or ask herself why—that wasn’t her method. 
She simply accepted it and was determined to do what she 
could. : 

Ever since Haworth had built the small room in the base- 
ment some weeks before, he’d been working feverishly day 
and night on what she supposed to be one of his inventions, 
seeming so desperately bent on completing the thing, and 
for the last day or two plunged in such dreadful despair, 
that the poor woman was beside herself with anxiety. She’d 
often seen him through times of such absorption in his 
work that he would have starved if she hadn’t kept after 
him with food, but there’d never been anything so terrible 
as this and she couldn’t find out what was the matter. 

And now had come this sinister-looking creature (though 
to save her life she couldn’t have said what was sinister 
about him) enveloped, it seemed to her, in an atmosphere of 
cunning and intrigue so dense that she could feel it, and 
Mr. Haworth had taken him down into the basement— 
most likely to that secret room he’d been working in so des- 
perately—where the fellow was undoubtedly arranging some 

infamous plan or deviltry involving him. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 161 


Haworth, as soon as the door of the roughly planked 
room was closed on them, had stripped away the sheet that 
covered his mechanism from view and had begun to describe | 
to Pentecost what it was intended to do. He was in the 
midst of this when Pentecost suddenly stopped him with a 
quick motion of his hand. | 

The lamp with its green shade stood on the top board of 
a step-ladder, throwing a weird light on the two men facing 
each other in silence. 

Haworth, recovering from his surprise (for he hadn’t 
heard anything) started to speak, but Pentecost shook his 
head emphatically, and after a moment’s pause whispered: 
“I hear someone!” 

There was another pause. “You think somebody’s lis- 
tening ?’ Haworth asked in a subdued voice. 

“What I think cuts no figure. This is where we take no 
chances!” And Pentecost suddenly threw open the door. 

The light struck on old Mrs. Temple as she was going 
in through the door of Haworth’s workshop nearly oppo- 
site. She’d caught a word or two about some one listening 
and noted the sudden lowering of their voices just in time 
to turn back and get into the shop. 

“Oh, Mrs. Temple!” Pentecost called in the most ordinary 
tone. “I’m on the hunt for a drink of water. Maybe you'd 
get me some, if it isn’t too much trouble?’ 

_ The old woman reappeared at the door with a bunch of 
chips and shavings in her hands. “It ain’t no trouble,” she 

mumbled without the faintest trace of embarrassment, and 
limped along to the stairway. Pentecost watched her labor 
up the stairs, then turned to Haworth standing in the door 
of the planked-up room. 


162 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“That old dame of yours is right on the mark,” he said 
in an undertone. “Came out of there with a bunch of shav- 
ings.” 

“Yes—my shop. She gets them for the stove.” 

“So I inferred,” said Pentecost. His admiration was be- 
cause she’d managed it so deftly and said nothing about it. 
An amateur would have mentioned the stove. Just as well 
to keep an eye on that old lady. 

She soon came back with the water. Pentecost took it 
from her. “Awful sorry to trouble you,” he said, “—and 
all those stairs to climb.” He took a sip of water. “You 
won’t need anything more down here perhaps?” 

“Anything more?” she repeated in a puzzled way. 

“Kindlings, for instance?” 

“Not if the fire goes, I won't.” 

“I’m trusting, then, that it’ll do that.” 

They stood looking at each other for an instant. Then 
the old woman turned and went hobbling off into the shad- 
ows of the basement and could be dimly seen toiling up the 
stairs. 

A moment before she disappeared Pentecost said to Ha- 
worth, speaking distinctly but not raising his voice, “It’s a 
remarkable invention, Mr. Haworth—one that, handled 
properly, would make money; and I’d like to talk business 
with you.” Then, setting down the glass of water, he asked 
if he could have something out of his workshop. 

“Of course,” Haworth said, hardly understanding. ‘What 
is it?” 

“A piece of board five or six feet long—a light one about 
the size of a lath.” 

They found a piece of narrow half-inch stuff, and Pente- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 163 


cost stood it against the wall, slanting across the path of any- 
one walking through the passageway in the darkness. He 
_ balanced it so that a touch would send it clattering down. __ 

“Mrs. Temple wouldn’t listen, if that’s what you think,” 
Haworth said as they went back to the room. 

“Of course not,” agreed Pentecost as he carefully closed 
the door. “Go ahead with it,” he whispered, ‘“‘but keep the 
soft pedal on. Basement’s safe enough, but there’s a room 
above.” 

“Yes, but Mrs. Temple would never 

“Tt know—I know. She’s all right. Hell of a pity you 
don’t know what talent you’ve got in the house! Go on 
now. What the devil zs all this?” 

And thereafter had anyone been at the rear end of the room 
on the left (which was the one above) or even in the base- 
ment itself, only the faint droning tones of conversation 
could have been heard, with occasional clanking and grind- 
ing sounds suggesting the revolution of geared wheels. No 
words could have been distinguished and the fact that to- 
ward the end of the interview, after Pentecost’s voice had 
been going on in a subdued but earnest murmur for quite a 
time, it was suddenly stopped, as though something had shut 
him off in the midst of a sentence, and that then, for several 
minutes following, there was absolute silence, could only 
have mystified without in the least enlightening anyone in 
a position to overhear. 

In reality there was no mystery whatever, and the whole 
discussion between the two in that basement room was sim- 
ple and straightforward. It was only that while Mr. Pen- 
tecost was in the very act of telling Mr. Haworth that 
there were various reasons why it was impossible for his 


33 


164 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


firm to take on this remarkable idea of his for exploitation, 
there suddenly came to him—flashing through his mind in 
the characteristic way he hit on such things—a most in- 
genious scheme or operation that could be worked in con- 
nection with this device of Haworth’s—and in fact with noth- - 
ing else; a scheme that appealed to him by reason of its 
extraordinary possibilities for shrewd maneuvering and 
complicated trickery and strategy, and because it was danger- 
ous, cold-blooded, and terrible. 

It came crashing in on him in the very midst of his declin- 
ing to have anything to do with the Haworth invention— 
even while he was advising Haworth himself to let it alone 
—and naturally brought him to a stop that was near to 
being a jolt. The rest of his sentence remained unspoken. 
He sat motionless, his mind flooded with his new idea, a 
blank to everything else. And when Haworth, who had 
taken his refusal as final, at last muttered something about 
going upstairs, he rose from the wooden box on which he 
was sitting and followed. | 

Haworth, in the room above, set the lamp down and 
stood staring into vacancy. 

Pentecost hunched himself up in a chair where he sat 
with his dark half-closed eyes fastened on the young inven- 
tor. He was figuring on what the chap would be likely to 
do under certain circumstances—the most effective method 
of taking care of him should he prove an obstacle—the safe- 
guards he could use. 

He was as certain that he’d purchase the rights for 
handling and exploiting the Haworth machine—but doing 
so in his own way—as he was that he saw the young fellow 
there before him. It was a chance he’d been looking for 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 165 


ever since he left Chicago. He’d pay anything necessary. 
But of course he knew how to- manage so that the said 
“necessary” would be an insignificant figure. | 

Haworth began to walk up and down the room. Pente- 
cost watched him for a while. 

“What seems to be the matter?” he finally asked. 

The young man stopped in his tracks and looked at him. 

“T thought you said you wouldn’t take it.” 

“I’m not the only man on earth.” 

“It’s the time—the time!” 

Pentecost regarded him from under his drooping eyelids. 

“You're looking for a bunch of money?” he asked. 

“Yes—oh yes!’ And Haworth turned and began to 
move about. 

“Look here,” Pentecost called out to him after a while. 
“Just to satisfy my curiosity, put an index to it!” 

“Index?” Haworth stopped and faced him. 

“What amount?” 

“T don’t know. A lot—thousands—I must have thou- 
sands.” 

“How many?” 

“All I can get—twenty. No, wait! More! Thirty— 
forty Hi 

“The fool that would give you that isn’t born yet.” 

“How do you know? Wait! I’ve thought of something! 
I'll go to the moving-picture men. They'll take an interest 
—they’re bound to—the pictures are part of it—and they 
pay great prices—they pay thousands!” 

Moving-picture men! And the distracted young fellow 
was capable of doing it. Might get something out of them, 
too, if he happened to strike a crooked concern. 


166 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“T don’t suppose you could wait a few days,’ Pentecost 
mumbled in an uninterested sort of way. ‘“‘There’s a bare 
chance I’ve thought of—though I doubt if it’s as good as the 
pictures at that.” (Of course he couldn’t appear to block 
the picture game. The price would go up on him—or would 
if the chap knew anything.) 

“For yourself?’ Haworth asked, eagerly; for he’d got it 
firmly fixed in his mind that this man was the one choice on 
earth for the carrying out of his idea. 

Pentecost shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I’ve got 
a partner. I’ve known him to take a fling at something on 
his own account—if he took a fancy to it.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Pittsburgh—on business. He might be able to get here 
by Friday.” 

“Five days!” 

“Good man for you, too. Just his line. Done this sort of 
thing before.” 

“But you don’t know he’d we it! I can’t wait five days 
and then have him say no! I'l try the pictures. There 
was a man here last week—wanted to take me working at 
the lathe—said he’d read about me in a paper. I know 
where he is. Ill find him to-night!’ 

There could be no doubt that the fellow would do as he 
said. He hadn’t the faintest idea in his system of what a 
“bluff” was. And the fear of losing this rare chance for 
ingenious chicanery drove Pentecost into the execution of 
what is popularly referred to as a “climb down.” Although 
able to camouflage this performance so that it did not appear 
in that unpleasant light, he had, before leaving the old Cripps 
mansion that evening, virtually guaranteed that his firm 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 167 


would take over the entire exploiting rights in the Haworth 
mechanism, and had agreed to pay for the same in cash, upon 
_the signing of the contract, an amount which should be “sat- — 
isfactory” to the young inventor. As to this payment he 
_ asked for a delay of fourteen days so that he could sound 
the market, the idea of the thing being so utterly unique 
that it was impossible at this time to estimate the exact figure 
they could pay. And as he needed every moment of the 
fourteen days option—as you might call it, and this being 
Sunday and so late anyway that nothing could be accom- 
plished, he asked that the time allowed begin on the follow- 
ing day—Monday—at noon, bringing its expiration on Mon- 
day the 30th of August at the same hour. 

With talk like this—which, as you see, bound him to noth- 
ing—in combination with the young man’s earnest desire 
that he should be the one to undertake the exploitation, 
Haworth was persuaded into this fourteen days delay, be- 
ing made confident of receiving a large amount of money 
at the end of that time. Pentecost said he would bring 
Harker there to draw up the contract, on his return from 
Pittsburgh, and then this promoter of hazardous and ex- 
traordinary villainies rose to take his leave, slipping a bunch 
of bills on the table as he did so, with the explanation that 
what he’d got—though not in legal form—was really a four- 
teen-day option, and as option money he was leaving a cou- 
ple of hundred. There was nothing of kindliness or rescue 
work involved in this; Pentecost had sized up Haworth well 
enough to know that acceptance of money would make him 
feel in honor bound to wait the fourteen days—bound firmer, 
indeed, than if he’d signed documents. A wary move, cer- 
tain to prevent the young fellow, in a possible fit of despera- 


168 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME — 


tion, from taking his astonishing idea to a motion-picture 
concern. ) 

The delay he’d asked for was absolutely necessary to 
Pentecost for the carrying through of the complicated 
campaign mapped out in his mind. Advance planting of a 
most unusual character and covering a great extent of terri- 
tory was required. In addition there was the matter of 
Haworth himself—the chances—the safeguards—for he was 
a risk beyond computation. He had insisted on the payment 
being made to him in cash at the expiration of the fourteen 
days—if the firm decided to purchase the rights. It looked 
like a big bunch of money dropped in his lap and no anchor 
to it—an impossible situation. Of course the fellow would 
have to be taken care of. The way to do it was the problem. 
But Pentecost very well knew he’d have a solution—and an 
adroit one—before morning. 

He boarded the midnight train for New York fifteen min- 
utes before leaving time, and at once went to work on his 
intricate scheme. 


PART VI 
HEN Stephen W. Harker of Harker & Pentecost re- 
turned from Pittsburgh, where he’d been “planting” 
for a nice little Gasoline Substitute Swindle (stock selling, of 
course—that was his department) and had sat in for an hour 
with Pentecost, getting the details of the extraordinary Ha- 
worth device and the elaborate scheme his partner had evolved 
for its exploitation, he vehemently refused to have anything 
to do with it. Not for by George and all hell was he going 
to put his head in a noose like that when he had a nice safe 
little business that was raking it in as fast as he wanted it. 

“You got me going once when you had the firm into that 
damned Folsam affair—you know the one—came out his 
wite had hit him with something in his tea. You'd got a grip 
some way so you could hold it back an’ play it. I dipped in 
with you an’ no complaint at the time. But now I'll tell 
you that was too close for me and this time you’re going to 
jump plumb into the middle of the shake-off! You must be 
dippy! They'll get you sure! Anyways, you can count me 
good an’ out.” 

Pentecost sat toadlike, silent, regarding Harker with bulg- 
ing, half-closed eyes. 

“Now hook to this,’ Harker went on; “if the turn is 
against you and they’re fixing you for the clamps, I back 
your play to ooze out of anything. But I get loose teeth if I 
‘mix in with those little sports that look like raspberry tarts 
to you. Now this Haworth layout—it looks to me like a 


169 


170 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


frolic with the undertaker ; but if you like it for yourself, go 
to it!” 

“T’ve gone to it,’ Pentecost murmured in a careless sort of 
way; “and I play it under the firm name.” 

“But my God—wait! That gets me in!” 

“Why, so it does!” 

“What are you doing, dragging me into a play whether I 
want it or not?” 

“Can that!” Pentecost flashed sudden fire for an instant. 
“Do you think I planned this damned firm to keep you under 
glass?” 

There was a short pause and Pentecost’s blaze-out sub- 
sided. | 

After a while Harker spoke in another tone, now petulant 
and pleading. “You going to jam me up against that layout 
an’ nothing to say?” 

“You can make your get-away now.” 

“Jump the firm?” 

“Why not? In that case, jump while the jumping’s 
good.” 

Harker, on that, said no more. He'd go a long way be- 
fore dropping the partnership. It wasn’t alone losing the 
tidy and “classy” business as it was now run through Pente- 
cost’s putting it on a straight-play basis, but even more than 
that he appreciated the association with this marvelous oper- 
ator. It gave him the feeling of trailing along with a giant, 
a super-sharp, a past master of crookedness. He gave the 
matter of the Haworth enterprise deep thought, and by noon 
of the following day had decided to play in on it, saying to 
himself that he’d bar worrying by putting his trust in Pen- 
tecost. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 171 


On the afternoon of the same day that Mr. Harker de- 
clared himself in on the West Roxbury undertaking, both 
_ members of the firm embarked on a steamer of the Metro- 
politan Line for Boston. The boat was the North Land and 
this line was the “‘all-the-way-by-water” route, the steamers 
after traversing Long Island and Block Island Sounds and 
Buzzards Bay, passing through the Cape Cod Canal into 
Barnstable Bay, and thence through Cape Cod and Massa- 
chusetts Bay into Boston Harbor. 

It was the fourth day after Pentecost’s visit to the Cripps 
mansion and the firm was proceeding to Boston as agreed, in 
order to discuss with Haworth various points of the con- 
tract—the amount to be paid down, the delivery of the ma- 
chine, and other matters connected with the sale—so that the 
papers could be drawn up ready for signature on the day the 
option expired. 

Mr. Pentecost had already accomplished a great deal, hav- 
ing got in reports from his men (if it was ordinary business 
you’d call them correspondents) in all the large cities, and 
also having come to the determination to carry on the thing 
himself in such of those towns as he finally selected, instead 
of selling to the central agency or bureau handling this class 
of material,—a bureau which he found to be run by “pikers,” 
mortally afraid to pay big money for big chances. In addi- 
tion to this, it was safer not to trust them in so ticklish a 
business. So he had it all laid out, and his own men were 
already where he wanted them or on the way. He’d sent a 
couple of his choicest “‘trusties” over to Boston the day be- 
fore. Of course the main work was going to be there. 

The taking of a steamer instead of going by rail, and also 
the selection of this particular line, were both essential to 


172 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Mr. Pentecost’s scheme; and the same thing made it impera- 
tive that, following their interview with Haworth, they re- 
turn to New York by the same boat on which they went over. 
So important was this latter, indeed, that had they been 
unable to secure return accommodations on the North Land, 
Pentecost would have postponed the trip until both the going 
and returning could have been accomplished on the same 
steamer—he did not care which of the two running on this 
route it was. | 

Awhile after the North Land left—they must have been 
about running out into the Sound at Hell Gate—Mr. Pente- 
cost went to the purser’s window to make inquiries about the 
tickets for the return trip (he had left the matter to be ad- 
justed when he came on board, merely having been informed 
by telephone that the reservations had been made), and after 
finishing with the business remarked jovially to Mr. Lawson 
(the purser) that that was a damn good picture of a locomo- 
tive he had on the wall there behind him. It represented, 
lithographed in color, a giant locomotive hauling a night 
express on the New York Central, and so realistically com- 
ing toward you that your first impulse was to make one 
grand hurdle for your life. The purser, pleased at the 
appreciation, for he had a fad on locomotives (a fact which 
Pentecost had obtained from the comprehensive report on 
the steamer and its officers turned in by one of his men), 
said it was a pretty good one, but he thought the one they 
got out the year before beat it. 

The conversation resulted in Mr. Pentecost’s being invited 
into the office, and when business at the window permitted 
the purser showed him other views of locomotives. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 173 


Pentecost didn’t stay long. He knew enough not to drive 
an entering wedge too far. 

By evening they had a slight acquaintance with several of . 
the officers, and Pentecost had made a most favorable impres- 
sion on the head waiter as well—this latter through the 
poignant influence of an extraordinary tip; and along toward 
nine-thirty or ten o’clock the purser, with whom he was 
chatting over cigars, introduced him to Captain Snow, who 
happened along just then, and the three talked about the 
canal. 

Pentecost made many intelligent inquiries on the subject 
and Harker came along and listened in with great interest. 
So that the total result of the voyage was most satisfactory 
from Pentecost’s point of view. With no hint of pushing 
or forcing themselves they had a fairly good traveler’s ac- 
quaintance with the captain, the purser, and several minor 
officers of the North Land, as well as the head waiter and 
one or two of the deck hands of whom they’d asked ques- 
tions. Also the chief engineer, to whom they’d been turned 
over on expressing a wish to have a look at the “power 
plant,’ as they called it. Pentecost had made this engine 
room) move in order to bring it in casually that they were 
especially interested in machinery—almost their business, 
you might say. Indeed, that they were even then on their 
way to Boston to negotiate for the purchase of the rights in a 
most ingenious mechanical contrivance, though they weren’t 
positive of being able to get it. Held at so high a figure. 
But an extraordinary thing in its way. | 


The North Land backed into her berth at India Wharf, 
Boston, shortly after 8 o’clock the next morning, and Messrs. 


174 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Harker & Pentecost were driven to the hotel they were in 
the habit of patronizing when there (except at such times 
as they preferred to have their presence in that town un- 
observed), and went to the room which had been reserved 
by wire. Alfred Harker, son of the senior partner, who'd 
come over on the train that left New York at midnight 
(there’s an “Owl” in each direction you know), had been 
waiting for them there since about half-past six in the 
morning. 

After breakfasting together and going over a few matters, 
the three came down into the hotel office and sat there 
smoking and chatting. One of the house managers came 
along. An assistant manager, I believe he was. His name 
was Tate. 

He greeted Pentecost and Harker by name, and Alfred 
(who hadn’t been there before) was introduced. 

“Boston on business?” Mr. Tate inquired, pleasantly. 

“That’s it,” said Pentecost; “rather an odd business, too.” 

“Not so much the business that’s odd,” put in Harker, 
“but what it brings us up against. Maybe you can give us 
a pointer or two. We're trying to buy a mechanical device 
—invention, you know—from the queerest duck you ever 
saw, out Roxbury way.” 

“Queer, eh?” 

“Just bordering on the lunatic fringe,’ Pentecost took it 
up, “but a crackerjack on mechanics. Got a lot of strange de- 
vices in his shop out there; most of ’em no earthly use but 
marvels of ingenuity, nearly every one. Went out there to 
see ‘em a few days ago—Sunday it was. In fact, it was a 
Sunday paper put me on to it. Full-page write-up about 
the chap—pictures of him and all that.” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 175 


“Oh yes,” Tate put in. “I saw it—I mean the heading— 
that’s all I read. Something about a hermit, wasn’t it?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Has some ingenious things, you say?” 

“Remarkable! No idea I’d find anything we wanted when 
I saw the tumble-down place; but, if you’ll believe it, he had 
one of the most novel inventions I ever laid eyes on; in fact, 
just the kind of thing we’re after. Exploiting’s our busi- 
ness, you know. I got an option on it and we’re over here 
to get the thing if we can.” 

“What’s the man’s name—I forget?” 

“Haworth—Charles Michael Haworth, if you want it all. 
I suppose you can’t tell us anything about him?” 

But aside from having caught a glimpse of that heading 
Mr. Tate had never heard of the man. He assured them, 
though, that he was going to make inquiries, and if he got 
hoid of anything he’d certainly let them know. They 
thanked him, and not long after that the three went out and 
took a carefully selected taxi for West Roxbury. 

I don’t want you to get the idea that there were any loose 
ends about what these super-sharps were doing—not for one 
half of one per cent. They figured the play to a hair. In 
this case they had Tate cribbed for a witness. 


Although the day set for the visit of Harker, Pentecost, 
and Alfred to the mansion on Torrington Road was not 
one of Mrs. Temple’s days in according to custom, but was 
branded by the calendar as a Friday (which was one of her 
days out) the old woman was there just the same. Since 
the appearance of Mr. Pentecost at the house nearly a week 
before she had been obsessed by the feeling that he was 


176 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


working up some treacherous plot against the trusting young 
fellow in her charge, and she was determined to be on hand 
to keep a watch on the vicious brute if he came to the house 
again—as she had no doubt whatever that he would. 

But Haworth had taken note of this tendency of Mrs. 
Temple’s to be present irrespective of her days in and finding 
her there on this particular morning he had sent the old 
woman on an errand which would keep her away for some 
time. So when the party arrived at the house it was he who 
opened the door. : 

Mr. Pentecost greeted him and introduced his partner, Mr. 
Harker, and Mr. Alfred Harker, after which Haworth ush- 
ered them into the room on the left. It was all peculiarly 
quiet and subdued. Few words were spoken, and those that 
were, in lowered voices. Pentecost took notice of Haworth’s 
improved appearance—his quiet, steady voice and the absence 
of the tortured look and the “drowning-man”’ stare. 

After the four were seated there was a brief pause. They 
seemed weighed down by some sort of oppressive restraint 
that could almost be described as funereal. 

It was Harker senior who finally began the conversation, 
endeavoring, with an allusion to Boston’s climate, to estab- 
lish a commonplace atmosphere—though one hardly more 
cheerful; and Harker junior hastened to his assistance with 
a reference to his surprise at so rural a section being in the 
heart of the town. He supposed Roxbury—or was it Ja- 
maica Plain ?—might be so considered. 

Pentecost turned them to business, remarking that there 
wasn’t any time to throw away, and that the first thing was 
to go down and inspect the machine under consideration, so 
that the Harkers could get a clear understanding of it. Be- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 177 


fore they did this, however, he would appreciate information 
as to the whereabouts of the talented old lady he had seen 
‘there on his previous visit. Haworth explained that Mrs. 
Temple had been dispatched on an errand to East Boston and 
would have to wait there about three hours before the foun- 
dry people could get her the article he’d ordered. Pentecost 
inquired how much time the journey to East Boston and 
return would normally require. Haworth thought, with the 
walk necessary when she got there, it might roughly be put 
at two hours. 

“How long ago did she leave?” Pentecost inquired. 

“About twenty minutes.” 

“An hour and forty minutes left,’ and he glanced at his 
watch. : 

“Four hours and forty minutes, if she waits there three,” 
corrected Alfred. 

“As you say—if she waits there three,” was Pentecost’s 
muttered rejoinder. 

The four men spent over an hour in the planked-up room, 
various sounds of clanking machinery and low-toned conver- 
sation issuing therefrom. When they finally completed their 
investigations and were coming out, Mr. Pentecost expressed 
the wish to see others of Mr. Haworth’s inventions; so the 
young man, after lighting Mr. Harker and Alfred to the 
stairway, took him to the large room where he kept his 
working models. In this way Pentecost got the opportunity 
of speaking with Haworth alone. 

There were a number of matters relative to the peutniaa 
tion of the invention in the.planked-up room that he wished 
to arrange with the young man personally. Nothing in all 
this was a secret from Harker, who understood that it would 


178 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


be better for Pentecost to arrange matters with Haworth 
personally, afterward turning over the results, as you might 
say, to his partner. 

In the course of this interview in the model room Pente- 
cost spoke earnestly for some time. Haworth’s rejoinders. 
were short and quiet, but it was perfectly evident that what 
he said, he meant. 

After several matters had been gone over, Pentecost turned 
his attention to the inventions he had come in there to see, 
for his wish to look them over wasn’t altogether a blind. 
Eventually he came upon one that suited the purpose he had 
in view. It showed great ingenuity, and it was not patented 
—two most desirable points. 

When the two men came upstairs they found Mr. Harker 
and Alfred seated at the table in the room on the left, work- 
ing on the rough draft of the proposed agreement. A sound 
and businesslike contract with Haworth was of the utmost 
importance to the firm. 

They’d been discussing the matter for some time when 
Pentecost stopped them with a quick motion of his hand and 
sat listening. After a moment he glanced at his watch. 
The time was nineteen minutes after twelve. 

“Gave us four minutes longer than I figured,” he muttered 
in an undertone. 

“Mrs. Temple?” from Alfred in a whisper. 

Haworth, amazed, incredulous, started up to investigate, 
but Pentecost indicated that he’d like to attend to it himself. 
Tiptoeing to the swing door of the butler’s pantry at the 
farther end of the room, he stood close to it, listening for a 
second, then suddenly pushed it open and went out, the door 
closing itself after him. Sounds like the moving of furniture 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 179 


came from the kitchen, and Pentecost soon reéntered as 
though nothing unusual had taken place. Instead, though, 
of sitting where he’d been before, he pushed a chair close | 
to the door into the big entrance hall, which door he opened 
a few inches, and sat in such a position that he could com- 
mand a view of the main stairway at the farther end of the 
hall. 

“Shall I go on?” Alfred inquired after a moment. 

“Why not?” said Pentecost. 

Alfred read the draft of the contract, and when he came 
to the blank left for the amount that Haworth was to get 
when the agreement was signed, he stopped and looked at 
Pentecost. The latter said that Mr. Haworth had consented 
to allow the matter to stand over till the day of signing— 
nine days from then. However, he would say before wit- 
nesses that it would be a figure satisfactory to Mr. Haworth 
after considering certain facts which he, Pentecost, would 
then be in a position to give him. “He’s willing,’ and Pen- 
tecost said it appreciatively, “to allow us that much more 
time to feel out the market,” 

He then went on to tell them that, as a result of a discus- 
sion they’d just had in the basement, Mr. Haworth had 
agreed to another matter to be included in the contract, It 
was to the effect that, in case the negotiations for the pur- 
chase of the invention were successful, Mr. Haworth would 
sign for a term of five years, to work exclusively for the 
firm of Harker & Pentecost, on such inventive undertakings 
as they should designate, receiving as compensation a salary 
of six thousand a year. 

Harker was struck with astonishment at this, but in an 
instant realized the importance of the stipulation to the 


180 : THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


firm. Alfred, too, was surprised—though he showed no sign 
of it. Neither need have troubled to hide his feelings, as 
Haworth cared nothing about them one way or another. 

Alfred was beginning to put away the papers in his docu- 
ment case, when Pentecost spoke of wishing to suggest a 
method for safeguarding the secrecy of this unpatented 
mechanism when they had occasion to refer to it in any 
way, orally or in writing. His idea was that they allude to 
it as “The Machine,” and in case some allusion to the mech- 
anism was necessary, they should use for that purpose, as 
a blind, some other of Mr. Haworth’s inventions, preferably 
an apparatus on which a patent had been allowed. “Letters 
may fall into the hands of outsiders,’ Mr. Pentecost ex- 
plained. “Telegrams and telephonic communications are of 
necessity known to various persons, and personal conversa- 
tions are quite liable to be overheard. By using the name 
and description of some other device these dangers may be 
eliminated and we will understand what is meant.” He hap- 
pened to come upon one of Mr. Haworth’s earlier inventions 
that would very well answer the purpose—a combination gas 
and compressed-air engine, really a most ingenious thing. 
They could speak of this as “The Machine” or as “The Gas 
and Air Engine,” and allude to its construction when neces- 
sary. He was very desirous of having this blind used in the 
contract—for contracts frequently have to be made public 
and this would make everything safe. 

This ended the discussion of the contract. But Pentecost, 
turning to Haworth, said there was an important matter that 
he rather hated to speak of, but with an extra-hazardous 
operation like this it was vital. 

“What is it?” Haworth asked, slightly apprentuee 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 181 


“I’m going to ask you to give that admirable old lady of 
yours a vacation.” | 

Pentecost was taking care to turn away from the slightly 
open door to the hall while speaking. “You must see, Mr. 
Haworth,” he went on in a lowered voice, “that it won’t do 
to have her about for the next ten days. The machine,—by 
that I mean the one we’re taking—is going to be exposed at 
the time of its “delivery’—perhaps before. She knows it’s 
in that room down there; you can’t touch her with any decoy. 
She may not understand machinery, but she’d give it away 
to others who did.” 

Haworth was silent fora moment. A great ache gripped 
his throat, and he finally spoke in a voice that he couldn’t 
quite control: “You don’t know how—how true she’s been— 
how kind! Why she—she’d do anything for me!” 

“Yes, my friend, and there’s where she’d play particular 
hell with us! That old dame’s no fool. And the trouble is, 
she’s got the idea there’s something going on here and she’s 
all set to protect you from it.” 

“Yes, yes—she’d do that!” Haworth murmured, huskily. 

“Not would—is now!” 

The young man looked at him suddenly. 

Pentecost nodded. “In the butler’s pantry there a few 
minutes ago,” he went on; “slid back into the kitchen as I 
was going to the door. When I got out there she was hustling 
up the back stairway. I shut the door at the bottom of the 
stairs and balanced a table against it. You'll hear it fall if 
she tries to push the door open. Only way she can get down 
is by the main stairway out here. Don’t think she’d care to 
try a window.” 

Haworth was so amazed he couldn’t speak. 


182 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“You must see what this means to our end of it,’’ Pente- 
cost went on. “We've got to put up big money in advance 
and incur enormous expenses before there’s any return, and 
here’s this old lady in a position to wreck the whole damned 
layout if she can get her nose into it—and that’s what she’s 
working for.” | 

““What—what do you want me to do?” 

“Keep her out of the house until the machine’s delivered.” 

The young man was silent, staring uneasily before him. 
In a moment or two Pentecost resumed: “I admire that old 
lady and I’ve got things laid out for her later where she'll 
come in delightfully. But for eleven days she'll have to 
disappear—or we must. It’s one or the other, Mr. Haworth. 
We can’t risk money on a chance like that.” 

Haworth nodded. “T’ll attend to it!’ he said, hoarsely. 

“Right. And there’s only one thing more to speak of— 
the butler.” 

“Butler ” Haworth repeated, surprised. 

“The old lady’s going. You ought to have some one here 
to attend to you. Also, we’d like a man in the house to look 
out for our interests. Whynotcombinethetwo? A butler—a 
general servant—who'll take care of you, and on our side see 
that no one tampers with the lock of that small room in the 
basement, and a few little things like that.” 

“Will you send some one?” 

“Not quite that, Mr. Haworth. I know just the man for 
the job, but I’d like you to get him yourself and leave us out 
of it.” 

“But I—I don’tknow. I never had any experience in as 

“Perfectly easy to manage. This young butler I speak of 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 183 


is booked with a first-class employment agency on Forty- 
fifth Street.” 

“New York?’ 

“Yes, West Forty-fifth. You can write them to send him 
over. Fellow’s name is Dreek—James Dreek—and if he 
isn’t out on a job they'll put him on the next train.” (Pente- 
cost very well knew “James Dreek” wasn’t out on any job, 
though not from the employment agency, with which con- 
cern he’d been more than careful never to have any dealings 
whatever.) “Dreek can manage the whole place for you— 
see that our side of it is protected at the same time.” He got 
out a pocketbook and took a card from it. “Here we are; 
this is the agency.” 

“But IT—— What shall to say to this—this agency?” 

“Here, I’ll do it for you and you can sign it. Got a ma- 
chine here? Typewriter?” 

Haworth shook his head: 

“Oh well, wait. Sign your name at the bottom of a blank 
sheet and I'll type a letter in above it when I get back to 
the hotel.” 

For some reason Haworth trusted this man implicitly, and 
after writing his name at the bottom of a blank sheet, held 
it out to him. But Pentecost didn’t take it. 

“Haven't you got a large envelope or something I can put 
it in?’ he asked. “Just to keep it clean till I get to the 
hotel ?” . 

“Tm afraid not,’ said Haworth, looking about on the 
table. 

“Couldn’t you slip it into that large flat book there?” 

“Why no! that’s my Oh!” He seemed to recollect 
something and opened the book, which was an illustrated 


184 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


catalogue of machinists’ tools, and placed the sheet of paper 
on which he’d written, between the leaves. 

“Shove an envelope with it, there’s a good fellow. The 
kind you use for letters.” 

Haworth did this and passed the book to Pentecost, who 
thus got the stationery he wanted without touching it himself 
or having anyone else touch it after it left Haworth’s hands. 

Pentecost said, as he and the two Harkers were preparing 
to go: “Keep it from the old lady that Dreek comes here on 
our recommendation.” 

“T will,’ said Haworth. 

“We’re coming back in ten days—expiration of option 
you know—and can take delivery at that time if the ma- 
chine’s ready by then.” 

“Tt’s ready now.” 

Pentecost looked at him with a peculiar glint in his droop- 
lidded eyes. 

“Then you plan to make delivery on that date?” he asked. 

“My God, yes! if I’ve got to wait that long!” 

Pentecost regarded the young man absently for an instant, 
then, with the Harkers, turned away, and the three went 
down the steps to the waiting taxi. 


The firm, with Alfred, had a late luncheon at the hotel, 
and then Pentecost left the others and walked a few blocks— 
or what would have been a few blocks in a rectangular city— 
to one of the largest dealers in “rebuilt” typewriting ma- 
chines. He asked to see some of the less expensive models, 
and the salesman brought several, placing them on a table 
along the side of the wall of the showroom. As it was a 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 185 


busy hour, he left Pentecost to try the lot at his leisure, and 
went to the customers who were waiting to be served. 

Pentecost sat down and began trying the machines in'a 
manner indicating to anyone who noticed that he was some- 
what of a novice. But though he was awkward and slow, it 
didn’t take him long to discover which of the three instru- 
ments displayed the most irregularities in its output; and 
thereupon he quietly gave it a few extra characteristics, 
slightly bending a couple of the type bars and filing away 
a part of two or three of the printing faces with the nail 
blade of his pocket knife. After a sharp glance about the 
place to assure himself that he wasn’t under observation, he 
took the signed sheet of paper and envelope from the large 
thin book in which Haworth had placed them, handling these 
things with small pieces of blotting paper folded once and 
slipped over the edges, so that for the second time that day 
he avoided contact with them. 

The sheet of paper was thus inserted in the machine he 
had selected (and doctored), and he proceeded to type a let- 
ter on it in the space above Haworth’s signature. His inex- 
perience with the typewriting business was still in evidence, 
for he was constantly stopping to erase or print over, or 
forgetting to shift for the next line. 

There’s only time to give you an example, here and there, 
of this man’s extraordinary methods of constructing his de- 
fenses. He worked far deeper than along the line of the 
obvious, for his highest satisfaction was to put up barriers 
against what had never been thought of by police depart- 

ments, but which he conceived as possible. 

After finishing the letter, addressing the envelope, sealing 
it and affixing a postage stamp by the same blotting-paper 


186 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


method of handling (the moistening of stamp and envelope 
being his only ‘“‘touchdowns’—but no system of tongue- 
prints has as yet been devised), he bought the machine he 
had been using for nineteen dollars, and took it with him. 
The sealed letter he had slipped into a larger envelope, again 
making use of the blotting-paper hold. 

Walking to the corner of Court and Sudbury Streets, 
which wasn’t far, he stopped and, taking out his handker- 
chief, mopped at his left eye, as if he’d got a cinder in it. 
At once a man who had been following came and stood at 
the corner near, but without giving any sign of recognition. 
It was a busy corner, so that a man more or less stopping 
there wouldn’t attract attention. Even at that early stage a 
“trusty” was on the job in case anyone was putting a shadow 
on him. 

The signal was “all clear,” and Pentecost turned west and 
strolled up beyond the State House to Bullfinch Place. His 
man, following, joined him in this quiet neighborhood. 

Pentecost put the large envelope in his hands. 

“Letter inside, stamped and addressed. Get it into the 
nearest letter box to the house and before eight to-night,” he 
said, speaking rapidly. “And keep your hands off it. Rip 
open the outside envelope, and let the one inside slide into 
the box. Here’s a typewriter in this package; take it out and 
polish it up. Clean all the marks off it. Wrap it up again 
without touching it. Do you get that? If you put one finger 
on it after you polish it off it’s you for the chair. The ma- 
chine’s for Haworth. Take it to him yourself. Tell him I 
thought he might like to learn to use it. You stand by and 
get him to try it—tell him you’ve got to change it if not sat- 
isfactory. I want his hands on it.” 


ete eeereneeeeesehrnanoneinchneeenitnannpenee eee 
ON TORRINGTON ROAD 187 


“T get you!” 
And the two sauntered carelessly away in different direc- 
tions. 


When the firm of Harker & Pentecost, together with the 
son of the senior partner, boarded the North Land late that 
afternoon for the return trip to New York, they greeted 
their steamer acquaintances of the previous night pleasantly, 
though in a manner indicating that they’d had a rather stren- 
uous day of it. Mr. Pentecost alluded to his intention of 
turning in early. Alfred was introduced to the purser and 
one or two others as occasion arose, and the three were about 
for a while, chatting with one and another of the officers. 

Beside the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there 
were two men on board the North Land who were closely 
associated with the firm, although giving no evidence thereof. 
Their business on this trip was to make close observation of 
certain points and circumstances connected with the steamer 
and its crew, particularly in the passage through the canal 
and the docking of the boat on reaching New York the fol- 
lowing morning; which business was faithfully attended to, 
as was also the matter of their making the reservation of 
the two cabins they were occupying on this voyage for the 
trip out of Boston ten days later, so that the firm should 
have no appearance whatever in that transaction, these rooms 
being 202 and 204 on the hurricane deck—the name of which 
tends to foster the idea that it was high up among the clouds, 
_whereas there were two decks above it, the promenade and 
the boat. | 

The firm members made not the slightest effort to push 


188 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


themselves ; they were seen here and there; and after an early 
dinner together, Pentecost, passing the pilot house, greeted 
Captain Snow, and the two exchanged a few words 
through the open window. He very soon left, saying he was 
going to bed, but hoped to be on board a week later, as he 
had further business in Boston about then. 

Instead, however, of turning in, he slipped down to the 
fantail, a small deck at the stern just below the promenade. 
Passengers seldom went there—and, indeed, weren't allowed 
on that deck while the steamer was docking or leaving, for 
the crew worked from there, and it was cumbered with 
hawsers and chains, capstans, bitts, and other machinery for 
handling the ship. When she was under way, however, the 
chains across the passage were taken down. One of his men 
was on the fantail when Pentecost got there, but no sign of 
recognition passed between them. The other man was in the 
forward part of the boat, moving unobtrusively about to see 
where officers and crew were stationed as the steamer nego- 
tiated the canal, which she was about to do. Both men on 
the fantail made the closest observations possible as she slid 
quietly through, the passage occupying something like thirty- 
five minutes, for they had her down to less than half speed. 
It was dusky twilight when the North Land entered the 
canal, and quite dark as she emerged at the other end. And 
when she did emerge and swung out into the shimmering and 
light-dotted open of Buzzards Bay, Pentecost went at once 
to his cabin, slipping forward by the outside starboard pas- 
sage, to the door of the saloon lobby, and from there up the 
stairway to the promenade deck, thus keeping it nicely in 
the shade as to what part of the ship he’d come from. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 189 


The week that followed was one of hard work for Mr. 
Pentecost, arranging for the execution of his extraordinary 
plan of campaign—assembling the parts, as you might say, 
arranging for “the market’? in most of the large cities, in- 
structing his men, and all the while perfecting his defensive 
system to cover any possible contingency. 

For Haworth, after he had finished with the very painful 
task of asking old Mrs. Temple to remain away from the 
house until the machine he’d sold was crated and taken away, 
the waiting wasn’t so hard as it had been, for now he was 
uplifted by the realization that at last he’d be able to come 
to the rescue of the one who was dearer to him than his life. 


Early one evening, soon after the Harker & Pentecost visit 
I’ve just been telling you about, he went to see her. He'd 
been keeping away for weeks—months, it seemed to him—in 
order to spare her the trying ordeal with Augustus—his 
drunken and bestial abuse, his threats of violence, that were 
sure to follow his visits. But now he wanted her to have 
the comfort of knowing that help was coming—that it would 
be here in a few days. And it was something he wanted to 
say to her in person—say with his mouth and lips and eyes 
and heart and entire being—not convey in the form of a 
letter, a cold series of words which in themselves meant 
next to nothing. Making as sure as possible of a time when 
Findlay wasn’t there or likely to be, he went to the little 
cottage. 

It was a precious visit for them both, though her cough 
and emaciation and strange pallor with the feverish scarlet 
flush made his heart stop beating when he first saw her. But 
it was from that—from the terrible thing it meant—that he 


190 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


could now be the one to save her. And he told her about the 
invention he was going to sell for a great deal of money, 
and how after that everything would be done for her—every- 
thing—the most wonderful medical care and the most bene- 
ficial place in the world. He was magnificently happy in tell- 
ing her this, and she was quietly elated with him, rejoicing to 
the utmost of her small strength. But before her happiness 
could be completed she had to ask if he would be with her, 
and be made confident that he would. He assured her that 
it was so, that though he might not be able to go with her 
when she went, because of the business he would have to 
finish up, he would come as soon as he could possibly do it— 
the very minute he could get away. 


The steamer North Land upon which the Messrs. Harker 
& Pentecost had already made two trips—one over and one 
back—made fast to the India wharf in Boston on the tenth 
morning after their former visit to Haworth, which brought 
it to the 30th day of August—the expiration date of the op- 
tion. The voyage had been quiet and uneventful, the partners 
not pushing themselves in the least, though enjoying brief 
chats with some of the officers and having cigars with Cap- 
tain Snow and one or two others in his cabin after dinner. 

When they were asked how it was coming out about the 
invention they were trying to get hold of—the one they’d 
referred to on the last trip over—Mr. Pentecost gave them 
some further particulars about young Haworth and his ex- 
traordinary genius; and as there seemed to be quite a little 
interest in the matter, he briefly described what it was they 
were trying to get hold of—a combination gas and com- 
pressed-air engine. He spoke, too, of an idea they had of 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 191 


trying to get the young inventor on a contract to work 
under their direction for five years. 

Alfred was waiting for them at the hotel (the one at 
which they stopped before), having, as he had on the former 
visit, come over by a night train. A heavy mail awaited the 
firm at the office, with several telegrams from various places 
and two or three large envelopes registered, all of which had 
been attended to by Miss Dugas, their office stenographer, 
who had notified the “correspondents” (as you might call 
them) in various cities to send letters and telegrams to Bos- 
ton as per instructions; and because you know the letters and 
telegrams so sent were bogus, the trick being one among 
many items in Pentecost’s establishment of their “open 
work’’ presence in town, it needn’t lead you to imagine that 
a single envelope of the lot contained only blank paper. Each 
one had in it an apparently important business communica- 
tion relating to one of the three or four legitimate promotions 
that the firm operated as decoys; and if traced to its source 
a man or woman would be found who was trying to buy 
stock in one of their straight companies, or wanting an 
agency, or with an invention to sell, or that sort of thing. 
_ Pentecost left two or three of the best of these letters lying 
about the room for the chambermaid to turn in at the hotel 
office when he left. Also, he went to the hotel telegraph 
_ desk and asked for a repeat on one of his wires. 

After breakfast in the restaurant the three men retired to 
their room and went into a low-voiced conference for per- 
haps half an hour. 

Then Pentecost went down to the hotel desk, there making 
inquiry as to a reliable trucking concern that could handle a 
heavy piece of machinery he wanted hauled from West 


192 THE ASTOUNDING CRIM 


Roxbury to one of the freight stations for Jersey City. Pro- 
ceeding by taxi to one that the information clerk looked up 
for him, he arranged for one of their heavy trucks and a 
moving apparatus and plenty of men to call for the machine 
on the following day, giving them an order on Haworth and 
full shipping instructions. Having done this, he rejoined the 
Harkers. 

And about twenty minutes before eleven the three came 
out of the hotel and, entering a large car which had been 
waiting for them, were driven away. No slipping out on 
the quiet. All open and aboveboard. 

Harker rang the bell at the mansion, and James Dreek 
opened the door. He was an ideal servant in both appearance 
and behavior. When Harker inquired if Mr. Haworth was 
at home, Dreek asked what names he should give, and upon 
being told—with the further information that they’d come by 
appointment—he begged pardon and showed them in at once, 
saying Mr. Haworth was expecting them. , 

The great entrance hall showed a marked change since 
their visit of ten days before. Several worn chairs stood 
about and a long table was pushed up against the north wall 
—doubtless stuff that wouldn’t sell and had been stored in 
other rooms or the attic. But the most noticeable thing in 
the place was a huge edifice in the form of a crate, measur- 
ing something like five feet in height. Between the slats and 
timbers of this enormous cage could be seen machinery of 
heavy build, and such parts as were discernible plainly indi- 
cated to a person of sufficient mechanical enlightenment that 
it was an engine of some kind. 

Pentecost walked over to the great slatted box and glanced 
at what was visible within, then followed the two others of 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 193 


his party, who had gone into the room on the left,—the door 
- of which James Dreek was holding open for him. 

Haworth was shaking hands with Harker and Alfred as 
he entered, and he did the same with Pentecost as he ap- 
proached ; and as the latter asked him how he was feeling, the 
faint smile that meant so much lighted his face for an instant 
as he answered in a low voice, “Rather worn out waiting, 
Mr. Pentecost.” 

“We had to take all the time the option allowed us, Mr. 
Haworth, but we’re here within the limit and can go on when- 
ever you say the word.” 

“Consider the word said,’ was Haworth’s quiet answer. 

Upon which Mr. Harker took the papers from a document 
case and tossed them on the table. 

The contract, though not long, took some little time to go 
through, for Harker was at pains to explain each point; and 
you could see that Haworth was growing restless and was 
eager to come to the clause dealing with the amount of 
money which the firm was to pay him. 
~ When Harker—it was toward the end—read out that the 
amount to be paid to the party of the first part upon the sign- 
ing of this contract was the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, 
and was going on with slight acceleration of speed to the next 
clause, Haworth said, very quietly: “Wait a minute, please. 
That’s a mistake.” 

“Mistake? How so?” from Harker—simulating surprise. 

“You said fifteen thousand. It should be forty-five.” 

What might be called a telling pause followed, the idea 
being that the partners were struck dumb with astonishment. 

“Forty-five what?’ Harker finally managed to inquire. 

“Thousand,” Haworth answered in his gentle voice. 


194 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


‘Where in God’s name did you get the notion that we are 
going to give you such a figure as that? Why you're crazy! 
We never agreed to any such ridiculous price—never in this 
world!” 

“Excuse me. Your partner”—indicating Pentecost—“said — 
the amount would be one that was satisfactory to me. That’s . 
the one that is. I’ve found I need it.” 

“Mr. Haworth’—Harker spoke with quiet and pleading 
earnestness—“‘let’s be reasonable about this. The amount 
you name is far beyond what we’re able to pay. We couldn’t 
touch it. If that’s the figure you’re going to insist on, it’s 
only a dirty waste of time for us to go on talking. We're 
through—and the whole thing stops right here!” 

“No—it doesn’t stop! JI know the idea’s good—you 
wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t—and if you can’t give me as 
much as that, I can find someone who will!” 

The two super-sharps of the firm, born gamblers both, 
were entirely aware that Haworth meant precisely what he 
said, no thought of bluffing having a place in his system. 
They argued about it for some little time—which is to say, 
Harker did, for Haworth said nothing, merely shaking his 
head a little now and then in refusal of some offer or sug- 
gestion; and when Harker, driven to his last play, stated 
that all the money they’d brought with them was twenty-five 
thousand, the young man merely asked him how long it 
would take to get the rest. 

“Then you won’t accept this twenty-five?’ Harker’s tone 
had now a definite finality in it, carrying the idea that he was 
giving Haworth his last chance. But the young man shook 
his head again. 

It was here that Pentecost, who hadn’t joined in the dis- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 195 


cussion, came forward. He said he had one proposal to 
make. It was quite true the firm had brought only twenty- 
five thousand, but he himself had in his possession the sum 
of ten thousand, which he’d intended using in the liquidation 
of a stock transaction. But he was so anxious to have the 
deal go through that he would add this ten thousand to the 
firm’s twenty-five, and they would then be able to offer Mr. 
Haworth thirty-five thousand in cash, and in addition to that 
would agree to pay him or whomsoever he might designate 
as his agent, an amount equal to one-fifth of whatever profit 
they were able to make on the handling of the enterprise. 

I’m giving you this little episode in some detail because it 
was certainly odd to see such a simple, almost childlike per- 
son as Charles Michael Haworth putting it all over a brace 
of about the most consummate swindlers that ever adorned 
the criminal contingent, and doing it without an idea that he 
was making any play at all. 

As to this new proposition of accepting one-fifth share of 
the profits in place of ten thousand of the cash price which 
he had fixed upon, he considered it a few moments and then 
turned to Pentecost. 

“Will you attend to this yourself?” he asked. 

“Yes—I will.” 

The young man sat looking steadily at Mr. Pentecost for 
some little time, his calm penetrating gaze seeming to search 
for something. Then he turned away and indicated that he 
would agree to the arrangement proposed. 

Harker had been fuming to himself over his partner’s 
enormous offer, but Pentecost, with a peculiar twist of his 
hand as he looked at his wrist watch, put it across to him 


196 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


that the game was so fixed they couldn’t lose. Harker’s 
experience with this same signal in former operations led 
him to infer that it didn’t matter what they paid, as they’d 
get it back. He took out his fountain pen and wrote into the 
contract the thirty-five thousand and the one-fifth share of 
profits. 

After both parties to the agreement had duly written their 
names, James Dreek was called in to sign as one witness, 
with Alfred Harker as the other, thus making the thing 
complete and duly executed. It was in duplicate—one copy 
for Haworth, the other for the firm. 

After the signing, with only a wait until Dreek had left 
the room, Mr. Harker, with some difficulty, got out the bunch 
of money from the document case and passed it over to 
Alfred. At the same time Pentecost approached the table, 
and saying, “There’s mine,” tossed a roll of bills on it. This 
payment in cash had been insisted on by Haworth from the 
very beginning. 

Alfred counted out the thirty-five thousand, which was in 
century notes, on the table. The separate piles of a thousand 
each were deftly stacked in one, and this was pushed non- 
chalantly across the table to Haworth. He fussed with it 
rather helplessly a moment. 

“Like to have ’em riffled again with the brakes on?” 
Alfred was an expert bill shifter and had snapped ’em off 
like the flutter of a humming bird’s wings. 

“Yes, please.” Haworth watched intently while the light- 
fingered youth dealt each bill off the pack so slowly and 
carefully that it could be seen and noted as it fell on the pile 
before him. 

When the recount was finished, Haworth muttered a 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 197 


“thank you,” and signed the receipt which Harker, mumbling 

something about its being “a cash transaction, you know,” 
pushed over to him. 

At that moment, Pentecost, turning from the money count, 
caught sight of James Dreek going through the swing door 
into the butler’s pantry at the farther end of the room. 

“How the hell did he get here?” Pentecost demanded in a 
sharp, rasping whisper the instant the door swung to. 

“Who?” Haworth asked with a glance about. 

“That young butler of yours. He had his lamps on that 
stack of yellows on the table.” P 

“You got him in yourself,” Haworth answered, “to sign 
as a witness.” . 

“He went out again!’ (Still in the guttural whisper.) 
“We waited for that before we slid the boodle out on the 
table.” 3 

“You said he was all right, didn’t you?” 

“All the same, you want to be a little careful with that 
bunch of money!’ And he moved noiselessly to the door 
which had closed after Dreek’s exit, and listened with his 
ear close against it. 

Appearing to be no more than half satisfied, he returned 
to the others and for an hour they discussed various points 
such as Haworth’s wishes regarding future payments, the 
taking of the machine the next day by the trucking firm, and 
the actual time of what was referred to by them as “delivery 
of the goods.” These things settled, Pentecost expressed 
the wish to take a look around the basement. Haworth went 
with him to the place where the planked-up room had been. 
Not only was it no longer there, but no evidence existed of 
its having been there. The timbers and flooring above the 


198 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


place where it had been built in showed no nail marks or 
abrasions of any kind and were grimy and darkened by age. 

Having examined the place and its vicinity with the ut- 
most care, using for this the small electric torch he always 
carried, Pentecost led the way into what had been the ma-— 
chine shop, and closed the door. There he went over several 
important matters which he preferred to discuss with Ha- 
worth alone. They conversed earnestly for a while, and 
then left the basement together by the door opening to stone 
steps leading up to the grounds at the rear of the house. 

Mr. Pentecost made a surreptitious examination of this 
door and the route by which they reached it, while Haworth 
was setting the lamp on the cellar stairs, after extinguishing 
it. The two then went out to the old barn not far in the 
rear, and looked about there for a while. After that they 
went toward the house again. 

Haworth had been carrying the big bunch of money in his 
clothes all this while, part in one pocket and part in another, 
and Pentecost, appearing to notice this for the first time, 
begged him to go in and put it somewhere where it would be 
safe. He said he’d walk about a bit for the air and would be 
with him in a few minutes. So Haworth left him and 
went in. 

Pentecost now gave the house (outside) and its surround- 
ings his full attention, especially as to the windows of the 
room on the left with their vine-covered shutters, and the 
character of the ground and shrubbery beneath them. It 
took him but a few moments to get all the information he 
needed as to the walls and foundation and roof overhang, 
together with other details that might come in, and lastly he 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 199 


took a look at the great elm trees in front and the “lay” of 
_ the ground in the rear. cade 

He reéntered the house by the basement door through 
which he and Haworth had come out, and James Dreek was 
waiting for him in a corner of the cellar. 

“Old woman?” Pentecost asked in a whisper. 

“Outside,’ was the answer. “Watches all day from a dis- 
tance. Nights in the bushes close under the side windows.” 

“We can use her!’ And he gave Dreek whispered direc- 
tions, after which he rejoined the others in the room on the 
left. 

Harker and Alfred were ready to go—indeed eager to, for 
it hadn’t been an easy quarter of an hour for them. They 
rose rather suddenly when Pentecost came in, and the three 
moved toward the door murmuring the ordinary phrases of 
leave-taking. 

Haworth had taken the bulky bunches of money out of 
his pockets and put them together on the table, and as Pente- 
cost and the two Harkers saw him last he was standing there 
with one hand resting on them. He made no move to go with 
them to the door. 


Besides the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost and Alfred, there 
were on board the steamer North Land when she left the 
India wharf that same afternoon, a number of persons who 
were more or less concerned in the business of the firm, yet, 
as you need hardly be told, giving no indication that such 
was the case. Not only were cabins 202 and 204 on the hur- 
ricane deck occupied by Pentecost’s men as before, but 200, 
201, 203, and 205 were also held, though only two of these 
were occupied. Thus, if you should happen to examine 


200 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


a chart of the boat, you would see that the firm commanded 
both port and starboard approaches to the fantail. 

And also as on the return voyage eight days before, the 
partners appeared to be pretty well fagged out, although 
it didn’t prevent their being about for a while and chatting 
pleasantly with their steamer acquaintances, letting it be 
known (but not until inquiry was made) that they’d suc- 
ceeded in purchasing the rights to the extraordinary device 
ef which they’d spoken, and what was more, had got a con- 
tract with the young inventor himself giving them his serv- 
ices for five years. 

Again they had an early dinner together in the restaurant 
and sat on the boat deck for a while, smoking cigars. Along 
toward half-past seven or a quarter to eight they sauntered 
forward, pausing at the large windows of the pilot house and 
greeting the captain. He asked them to come in and have 
a look at the canal—which the steamer was even then slow- 
ing down to enter. They accepted the invitation, and sat 
watching the shores on each side until it grew so dark— 
for the night was overcast—that only faint and blurred out- 
lines could be distinguished. 

Some ten or twelve minutes before they reached the west- 
ern end of the canal, Pentecost rose lazily, made an effort to 
conceal a yawn, and bade the captain good night. He was 
rather done up with the day in Boston, he said, and really 
couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Having thus ex- 
cused himself, he went below, leaving Harker there to see 
the ship come out into the Bay, which he claimed to be 
desirous of doing. 

Shortly after this the steamer slid silently by the village of 
Buzzards Bay, its many lights twinkling about a mile to the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 201 


north, for it wasn’t situated directly on the canal; and a little 
later passed out into the open waters of the Bay itself; and 
on that, in obedience to the “full speed ahead” ring from 
the wheel-house, broke into her normal stride again, heading 
out toward Block Island Sound. 

About this time, when the North Land had been clear of 
the canal for something like eight or ten minutes, Mr. Hark- 
er’s attention appeared to be suddenly arrested by something 
below on the forward deck. 

“Well, doesn’t that beat the———” He broke off and stood 
staring down. 

“Anything wrong ?” 

“Not exactly wrong—only he was telling us just now he 
was so completely done up he’d got to go to bed!” 

“Your partner, you mean?” 

“Yes, Pentecost! And now he’s gone into conference with 
a young lady! Over there on the left. See?’ 

Harker was pointing to a man near the port rail, whose 
back was turned to them and who was in animated conver- 
sation with a person who, in the dim light, appeared to be an 

attractive young lady. 
Captain Snow laughed a little. 

“So he has,” he said. “Well, it’s never too late for that!” 

“There’s truth in what you say,’ Harker admitted, and 
thereupon changed the subject. “New Bedford light we see 
over there?’ he asked. 

“No. That’s Bird Island. Five points starboard.” 

“What’s that one you’re aiming for?” 

“Dead ahead you mean?” 

hes.’ 


202 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“That’s a fairway buoy—Buzzards Bay Buoy they call it. 
We change the course there for Nigger Ledge.” 

Most likely you picked it up when I mentioned that it was 
only the back of the gentleman on the forward deck that 
could be seen from the pilot house, and naturally it was the 
said back that resembled Mr. Harker’s partner; and that 
was all that did. The man wasn’t Pentecost at all, for the 
good and sufficient reason that that gentleman had jumped 
off the steamer fifteen minutes before. It was one of his 
gang of “trusties,’ brought along for the purpose, with 
about the same build as himself, entirely similar hat and 
clothing, and well matched hair and back of head, so far 
as could be seen. The young woman with him was Miss 
Mary Finch Dugas, their office stenographer, who was occa- 
sionally sent out on an operation where the utmost precau- 
tion was necessary. 


A short time before the North Land, gliding noiselessly 
at about fifty-five turns (less than half speed) through the 
still waters of the canal, reached the vicinity of Buzzards 
Bay village, (which is at the farther end of it as you go from 
Boston) Mr. Pentecost had left the pilot house in the manner 
described to you a moment ago, gone below to the hurricane 
deck, and hurried aft on the starboard outside passageway 
until he reached the fantail deck at the stern. Alfred was 
waiting for him there in the dark. He had fixed a knotted 
rope so that it hung over the stern rail nearly to the water, 
the upper end made fast to a stanchion. 

The two waited silently in the gloom until they could hear 
the raucous clanging of the warning bell on the drawbridge, 
which commenced its clatter when the great draw swung up 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 203 


into the air, and kept it going until it was down in place again. 
This was the Bourne highway bridge and in a couple of 
minutes the steamer was passing through. A moment after 
that, while the bell was still ringing and the passengers on 
the decks above watching the draw slowly descend, Pente- 
cost, who had hold of the rope, clambered over the rail and 
lowered himself to the level of the main deck, which was 
the next one below. This deck was closed in at the stern, 
but he got a foothold on the ribbon piece and from there 
let himself down into the water without the least noise. 
It was so quiet, with the steamer slipping along at scarcely 
more than steerage way, that a splash might have attracted 
attention if the bell on the draw should stop ringing. The 
overhang of the counter made him safe from the propellers, 
and the water kicked up by them amounted to very little. 
‘He was whirled around two or three times, but it didn’t 
even duck him. A few strokes brought him to shore. But 
he didn’t come up on the banks till the North Land was 
going through the draw of the railroad bridge, a little further 
on, for there were lights along the shore of the canal, and 
he wasn’t taking any chances. 

Coming up on the low flat that bordered the waterway at 
this place, he quickly found the marks of an old road through 
it, and followed this with the aid of his flash light which he 
quickly undid from its waterproof wrappings. He hardly 
needed it though, as of course he’d been over every inch of 
the ground. Coming to the embankment of the bridge ap- 
proach, he still kept to the cart tracks which turned along 
the side of the embankment and then climbed it, bringing 
him out on the Bourne Road at a point nearly opposite the 
Soldier’s Monument. 


204. / THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Pentecost stood there a moment, dripping with water, and 
looking sharply down the road. It was hardly thirty seconds 
before a large closed car hove in sight, coming rapidly up the 
slope toward the bridge. A white handkerchief fluttered for 
aninstant from the right-hand rear window (behind thedriver), 
and instantly Pentecost ran out in the road and, waving his 
own handkerchief, signaled the car to stop. As soon as the 
car came to a standstill Pentecost called out to the driver, 
begging pardon for delaying him, etc., but stating that he was 
in a desperate hurry to get to Boston and asking if he could 
tell him where there was a garage. The chauffeur told him 
there was One on the right as he went toward the village— 
some distance up the road. 

At this point the man in the car, who’d been listening to 
the talk and also regarding Pentecost with what appeared to 
be astonishment (the road was well lighted here), opened 
the door and asked if there’d been an accident. 

“Not at all,” said Pentecost; “that is, I did take a tumble 
into the water. But that’s of no consequence. My trouble 
is to get to Boston in the shortest possible time—life and 
death matter—I’ll try the garage up the road—and thank you 
very much.” 

“Why see here!” called out the stranger as he climbed out 
of the car. “You take this machine—just came down in it 
from Boston—my place in Bourne—across the bridge— 
walk it in six minutes! ... You'll take him back won’t 
you?” addressing the man at the wheel. And then to Pente- 
cost as he passed close to him and put something in his hand 
while he continued speaking, “It’s a hired car you know— 
he’s got to go back anyway !” 

The matter was quickly arranged, and the driver stimu- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 205 


lated toward doing his best in the way of speed by the 
promise of a quite enormous bonus if he made it inside of 
eighty minutes. 

You may as well know (perhaps you’ve already guessed 
it) that this was one of Pentecost’s men who hired the car in 
Boston and came down in it to Buzzards Bay, waiting in 
the village on some pretext until the North Land reached 
the railroad bridge over the canal, and then starting for the 
highway bridge where Pentecost was to stop him. It was 
a crumpled wad of paper he’d put into Pentecost’s hand, with 
the number 2026 written on it—the same being the number 
of the chauffeur’s operating license. 

The chauffeur, on the other hand, was a stranger. This 
for reasons that'll come in later. I can say this now,—that 
he earned the bonus offered for speed; they were negotiating 
the streets of Jamaica Plain in a trifle under the seventy-five 
minutes. Pentecost stopped him at the corner of Centre 
and Greenough Streets, and after settling the bill and the 
bonus, turned east and walked rapidly up Greenough. As 
soon, however, as the sound of the car assured him that 
it was at a safe distance, he retraced his steps and kept 
on to the west or southwest, eventually coming to a little-used 
lane well beyond Torrington Road, from which, by crossing 
a long-abandoned vegetable garden, he could approach the 
_ Cripps mansion from the rear. | 


And now, just so you can keep the run of things as they 

come along, I’m going back a few days in order to show you 
how it happened that old Mrs. Temple was concealed in the 
bushes under one of the windows of the room on the left, 
at the very moment that Hugo Pentecost, after his plunge 


206 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


from the steamer into the Cape Cod Canal and the rapid 
drive in an automobile to the Roxbury district of Boston, was 
cautiously making his way toward the rear of the mansion. 

The old woman had been greatly relieved to notice a strik- 
ing improvement in Mr. Haworth’s condition almost immedi- 
ately after the first visit of Mr. Pentecost to the house, 
although she feared it was due to trickery by which the 
scoundrel (which she was sure he was) would in some way 
do him injury. The doctor she’d left word for at the drug 
store called the same evening and said there was nothing 
seriously wrong with him, and did no more than prescribe a 
tonic, nourishing food, and a complete rest. 

As the days passed and nothing transpired, Mrs. Temple 
felt less and less uneasiness, and it was nearly a week before 
things began to happen that revived her anxiety. They be- 
gan on the morning of the fifth day after the Pentecost 
visit, and the first of them was the sending of her by Mr. 
| Haworth on a most unusual errand—one that took her to 
some sort of foundry place in East Boston. And he told her 
if they didn’t have the kind of pulley wheel described in his 
letter, she must wait until they could get it for her. 

Her smoldering suspicions instantly burst into flame, yet 
she couldn’t refuse to go. 

It was a long journey and her imaginings of what might 
befall Mr. Haworth while she was away came near to 
making her turn back without doing the errand at all. She 
finally reached the office of the foundry and delivered the 
letter, but when they told her that they hadn’t the pulley 
wheel there but would send to the warehouse for it, she 
answered without an instant’s hesitation that she couldn’t 
wait, but would come another time. The men in the office 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 207 


called her attention to the fact that Mr. Haworth had said 
in the letter that she would wait for the pulley. 

“Well, I ain’t a-goin’ to!” she muttered hurriedly as she 
disappeared through the door. 

Arriving home something like an hour later, Mrs. Temple 
approached the mansion from the rear. She had worked her- 
self into a frenzy of fear that Mr. Haworth was in danger, 
and she wanted to investigate without being seen. Finding 
herself at last in one of the rear passages of the house, she 
stood listening. Low voices could be heard from somewhere 
in the front. 

With the utmost caution she made her way across the 
kitchen and through the butler’s pantry to the swing door 
opening into the room on the left. But the conversation 
within suddenly ceased and she began a hasty retreat. Hear- 
ing the door she’d just left swing open again (it had a very 
decided creak) she made for the servants’ stairway—which 
opened off the kitchen. 

There was a door at the bottom of these stairs which Mrs. 
Temple hastily closed after her as she fled, and when she 
paused at the top she heard the thud of heavy objects being 
shoved against it and realized that she was trapped; for the 
only other way down was the main stairway to the entrance 
hall, which was in plain sight if anyone took the trouble to 
look. And she very well knew that some one would take 
that trouble. She’d heard his voice in the room on the left 
in the brief second she was at the swing door. 

So she’d have to stay there until the gang of criminals 
and thugs, as she classified the men in the front room with 
Haworth, was gone. She brought a chair to the top of the 
main stairway and sat there, ready at the first alarming sound 


208 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


to rush down and fight like a wildcat, or run for the police, 
or do anything to rescue and protect the one to whom she 
was so desperately devoted. But no cry of distress reached 
her—only the low murmur of subdued voices. 

It was early afternoon (she’d been waiting somewhere 
near two hours) when she saw the men come out into the 
entrance hall below her. There were three of them—the 
Pentecost creature with two confederates. Of course they 
were confederates. What else could they be? 

Haworth came out with them. She heard the taxi the men 
had waiting for them drive away, and she saw Mr. Haworth 
return to the room on the left. At this she crept noiselessly 
down the main stairway and back through the rear hall. But 
she’d hardly more than reached the kitchen when Haworth 
came in through the butler’s pantry and stopped at the door. 

“Oh, you came back ?” he said. 

“I hope ye ain’t a-goin’ ter take it hard, Mr. Haworth,” the 
old woman begged, “‘but I couldn’t no more wait there an’ 
you left here alone with them thugs or card sharps or what- 
ever they be, than I could fly! I knew they’d be comin’ the 
minute ye sent me away like that an’ told me to wait—an’ — 
how could I, Mr. Haworth—how could I stay settin’ there 
in that factory place, not knowin’ what might be happenin’ 
to yer” 

“No matter, Mrs. Temple.” 

“Yes, Mr. Haworth, that was all; an’ I was worryin’ the 
life clean out o’ me. Terrible warn’t no name fur it! I 
couldn’t tell ye!’ 

“You did it for me, Mrs. Temple, and you’ve always been 
doing things for me. Please don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

The old woman’s trembling hand made two or three fum- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 209 


bles for her apron before she realized that she wasn’t wearing 
one, and a tear or two ran unmolested down her withered 
cheek. 

“And—I—l’ve got to ask you,” he went on, hesitatingly 
(and then came another of the frightful things that were to 
alarm her on this fearsome day )—“I’ve got to ask you to do 
something more for me, Mrs. Temple.” 

She looked up, staring at him with apprehension in her 
tear-wet eyes. And he went on to tell her how it seemed 
best that she should stay away from the house for a few 
days—just until one of his inventions was crated and out of 
the way—something very important that had to be kept se- 
cret, as there was no patent—so just a few days 

“Mr. Haworth,” she interrupted, “do please listen to me! 
Ye mustn’t have no more to do with them creatures. They 
ain’t right, Mr. Haworth; they’re crooked an’ treach’rous, 
every one o’ ’em—awful men! That Pentecost, he wouldn’t 
stop at nothin’—nothin’ in the world! Don’t let ’em in here 
again—don’t do it, Mr. Haworth! I beg ye won’t do it!” 

“But I must, Mrs. Temple. They’ve bought one of my 
machines.” 

The old woman was struck silent for an instant. 

“Be they goin’ to pay ye money for it?” 

SX CSu 

“You mean money right down?” 

“Yes,—it’s got to be that way.” 

A pause. Then: “Mr. Haworth, there’s some trick! Ef 
_ them jailbirds pay you money down they’ll rob it away from 
ye! They’re a-goin’ to git you some way—they wouldn’t 
be here if they wasn’t. I’ve seen spellbinders like them be— 
yes, an’ had to do with ’em too! Don’t turn me away now. 


210 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Wait till after I’ve got ’em out an’ then I’li go! Not now— 
not now, Mr. Haworth. You ain’t no person to cope with 
such as them.” 

The young man stood looking at Mrs. Temple’s face, un- 
able to speak. Suddenly he turned away and uttering a 
You must go!” he turned and 


broken “I can’t—I can’t 
fled from the room. 


For the following few days Mrs. Temple’s anxiety con- 
cerning the unknown danger she considered Haworth to be in 
overshadowed the lacerated feelings that naturally followed 
the poor soul’s expulsion from the house. No particle of 
blame could attach to him, for was he not under the malign 
influence of a gang of criminals and in no way responsible 
for what he did? This she felt, and her heart harbored no 
bitterness—though it had been cruelly hurt. She must find 
out in some way what villainy these human sharks were 
planning, though for the present nothing was possible but 
to keep close watch on the house. 

The very next night after her dismissal by Mr. Haworth 
she saw a young man who hadn't been there before, emerge 
from the darkness into the faint light that fell from a front 
window across the portico (she was watching from behind 
bushes quite near), and after ringing the bell, pass in at the 
front door. The roller shades—cheap affairs that the sec- 
ond hand dealer had agreed to put in in place of the old 
velvet curtains he was taking away—hadn’t been pulled down 
since she left, so she could see in. The stranger was being 
shown about by Mr. Haworth, who had evidently expected 
him, and seemed to be given charge of things as though he 
was a servant. That was it! The scoundrels had got Mr. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 211 


Haworth to send her away and take a man in her place. So 
now they had a confederate right there in the house with 
him! 

The old woman, desperate in her helplessness, made up 
her mind to get assistance. She’d go to the police in the 
morning and they’d arrest this man. Wasn’t it their busi- 
ness to protect people? If not, what was their business, 
she'd like to know! 

Early the next morning she hurried to the Jamaica Plain 
district, and as soon as she saw a patrolman, plunged into an 
excited account of the situation. But the old woman’s story 
seemed to border on the grotesque. From what he could 
gather the officer figured that she’d lost her job and they’d 
got a butler to take her place, with the result that the poor 
creature had gone dotty about it, thinking the man was some 
sort of a crook. He couldn’t find that she had any grounds 
for such a suspicion, but to quiet her he took down the 
address and said he’d keep an eye on the place. Mrs. Temple 
became almost hysterical, begging him not to stop with just 
keepin’ an eye on it, but to come over an’ arrest the man,—to 
please do somethin’ for mercy’s sake—if he didn’t there’d be 
some terrible thing happenin’ to some one. But the patrol- 
man told her he couldn’t make an arrest until some crime or 
misdemeanor had been committed. She finally realized that 
it was useless to waste further time with him and hurried 
back to keep watch again from the outside, and do what she 
could alone. That’s what she did from then on. 

During the day she hung about at some distance, keeping 
herself well out of sight, but always at places where she 
could see who entered the mansion and who left it. When 
darkness set in she stole to some overgrown shrubbery close 


242 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


to the house on the south side, and was able to see what was 
happening within, if the lights were on. 

For a week the old woman remained on watch until late at 
night and returned to her vigil early in the morning, bringing 
with her in a paper bag what little food she needed. During 
this time she saw Mr. Haworth leave the place a number of 
times, which was a little unusual, but he doubtless had busi- 
ness in town or elsewhere; also men having the appearance of 
being mechanics drove up in a car one day and were in the 
house until nearly five o’clock ; and she discovered, on reach- 
ing her nearer station in the evening, that a heavy piece of 
machinery was standing crated in the great entrance hall, pre- 
sumably having been brought up from the basement. The 
butler fellow appeared to be taking care of Mr. Haworth ina 
surprisingly competent manner. What a relief, she thought, 
if the machine in the hall should be taken away and the 
crooked gang that bought it never show up again! 


But this growing hopefulness on the part of Mrs. Temple 
served only to make the shock more violent when, on the 
morning of the tenth day after their former visit, the very 
bunch of swindlers she dreaded drove up to the mansion and 
were admitted to the house. She had known it would 
happen! $68 

During the whole day, from the time they came, the old 
woman hardly took her eyes off the mansion, not even for 
long enough to open the little package of bread and cheese 
She’d brought. After they entered, nothing more could be 
seen of them until early in the afternoon, when Mr. Haworth 
appeared with Mr. Pentecost, walking around from the back 
and going across to the old barn in the rear. After that she 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 213 


saw Mr. Pentecost alone, making an examination of the 
windows, the grounds, even the old elm trees near the house. 
He finally disappeared into the mansion at one of the rear 
doors, and a short time after that the three came out at the 
front portico and drove away in the big car which had been 
waiting since their arrival in the morning. 

The moment it was dark enough for her to approach the 
house she made haste to her place among the tangled shrub- 
bery close under the side windows. The room on the left 
was absolutely dark, but by listening intently she could hear 
voices in a further room, and it was an unspeakable relief 
when she recognized Mr. Haworth’s among them. He 
seemed to be giving directions to the young accomplice (there 
wasn’t a doubt in her mind as to his being one) that the gang 
of scoundrels had got into the house as a butler. 

She’d been there but a short time, close under one of the 
side windows of the room on the left, when the sound of 
carefully lightened footsteps reached her ears. Soon the 
forms of two men could be made out in the darkness coming 
along the flagged path from the rear and passing quite near 
her as they went toward the front of the house. They ap- 
peared to be carrying some heavy object and went around 
the corner with it to the front. 

Mrs. Temple crawled cautiously through the high weeds 
and bushes to a place where she could see them again and 
more distinctly, for the light was on in the big entrance 
hall, and struck through the two narrow windows—one at 
each side of the door—across the front portico. This with 
its columns reflected enough light to enable her to make out 
what they were doing. 

They had put a ladder (which must have been what they 


214 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


were carrying) against the vine-covered wall at one side of 
the front window of the room on the left, up which one of 
them had climbed, and were working at something which 
seemed to be under the thick growth of creeper, carefully 
disentangling the vines, unwinding, drawing out, and secur- 
ing them at one side, never cutting or breaking. The leaves 
in particular they appeared to be handling with the utmost 
care, and it wasn’t until they had slowly and with all possible 
precaution pulled one of the window shutters out of the 
tangled mass that had covered it as it stood opened back 
against the wall, that she suddenly realized what it all meant. 

They were closing the blinds! Closing them! Such a 
thing hadn’t been done in all the years she’d been there! It 
could mean but one thing—something was going to happen in 
the house that no one must see! She was horrified, aghast, 
unable to move. | 

It took the men a long time to free both shutters and tie 
the vines back so they’d be supported. But finally she saw 
they were coming down and gathering up some cords and 
tools from the ground. It would be the side windows next— 
the blinds there were open and overgrown in the same way 
as the front one—and she’d be directly in their path as they 
came around the corner. So she crawled out from among the 
bushes and hobbled away a little distance in the darkness. 
Her rheumatism was bad from her being out on the damp 
ground so much. 

But the men didn’t stop at the side windows. Instead 
they went back to the rear of the house, passing along the 
flagged path by which they came, carrying the ladder and 
what tools they’d brought with them. | 

Shivering with dread, Mrs. Temple stood trying to think 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD PAN 


how she could get word to Mr. Haworth—how warn him 
—put him on his guard? Though after his telling her that 
she must not, she didn’t dare to go in, yet she would dare if 
there was no other way. 

Before the poor old soul could decide what to do she heard 
the front door of the house close heavily and saw someone 
coming down the steps. As he turned at the bottom, the 
illumination from the hall windows fell upon him, and she 
saw it was Haworth. 

At once she determined to speak to him—to warn him of 
his danger—to beg him to let her come into the house again 
so she could see that no harm came to him. She said to her- 
self that if he’d do that, she’d sleep in front of his door at 
night—indeed, never let him out of her sight if she could 
help it. : 

All this came to her while she was hurrying with all her 
strength to overtake the young man as he went toward the 
gate; but he was walking fast, and, crippled by rheumatism 
as she was, she couldn’t come up with him. She called as 
loud as she dared—which was in a very subdued voice in- 
deed, as it wouldn’t do for that butler scoundrel to know 
_ that she was warning him. 

But Haworth either didn’t hear or wouldn’t stop; and 
finally, about halfway down the drive, the old woman gave 
it up. 

Then she decided to wait in the drive until his return; she 
could speak to him there without disobeying his orders. 


A little time after Charles Haworth disappeared in the 
darkness, leaving poor old Mrs. Temple standing in the 
driveway not far from the gate, he and Edith were together 


216 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


in the small living room of the Findlay cottage on Cherry 
Street. That afternoon about half-past four, a stranger had 
called on Mrs. Findlay—a mild-looking middle-aged man— 
and had told her that Mr. Haworth would be there that 
evening between seven and eight. 

Edith had hesitated, whereupon the stranger muttered in a 
low voice, “Mr. Findlay won’t be home till quite late.” 

“How—how do you know ?” she asked. 

“Some one’ll be taking him to supper, an’ they’re liable to 
be engaged in conversation for some little time.” 

Before she could make any reply the man was gone. 

And now Haworth was there—with her. 

For a long time they scarcely spoke. A few endearing 
words whispered as they clung together—that was all. 

Finally he lowered her hands from his lips, though still 
holding them. “Darling one—you know it already—that I’ve 
come with good news—don’t you?” 

He could feel her head making little nods against his 
breast and heard a muffled “Yes” from down there. 

“It happened—what I told you I was trying to do. Those 
people took the machine—bought it you know—and to-day 
they paid the money—and there'll be other payments coming 
in later. So now all the trouble is over—there won’t be any 
more at all!’ 

She suddenly looked up in his face, but he gently drew her 
head down again, so then she couldn’t see his face any more 
but lay there resting, and hearing his voice saying how mar- 
velous it was that this sale had come just in time—for it was 
in time. The doctors said it would be all right and a certain 
cure if she could get away at once. And now she could! 
They hadn’t definitely decided where she was to go, but 


ON! TORRINGTON’ ROAD | oO) us, 


would invavday or'two. It would be the most ‘beneficial 
place in the world for her—they’d make sure of that. And 
they’d send the best nurse they could find to: take care of her 
on the journey and when she got there.. And very: soon— 
very soon—she’d.be entirely cured and strong and well again. 

When he stopped speaking she twisted around a little so 
that she could see his face, . | 

“What is it?”.she whispered. Gee aN was levaderle 
beating with a vague alarm that she couldn’t understand. 

He looked down and;met her anxious gaze... . 
“But don’t you-see, dear—it’s going to be so wonderful! 
We'll, have enough for everything—more than enough. 
Plenty to take care of you and plenty for me to go on with 7 
anything I want to do. I brought a little over for you to 
get along on just for. now—see, that package on the chair 
there—where my hat is. Don’t mind what’s in it; remember 
there’s a lot more—thousands. They paid all that down, you 
see, and I’m to have so much a year to work for them—that 
is, after we've got you all right. That’s the first thing. I 
couldn’t do anything,—any work at all, if I—if I was afraid 
about, you. And you know what you have to do for your 
part, don’t you, dear ‘one? Wherever the doctors say, you 
must go, and whatever they tell you to do you ‘ll ek won't 
you! rt 

‘Edith didn’t ‘answer: “She was lying’ quite mace 
against him. “Hé looked down at her. | 
* “But—but’ you ——”’ she began in’ a faint voice, and 
stopped, Hedhtatihe. lazaeeog A vy TOR Onl 
Ves? he encouraged her tenderly. iter | 
~"“T mean you”. (Quite a pause.) “Aren’t you ee 
too—if I—if I have to go a long way off?” i 


218 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Yes dear—as soon as I can! But to make this sale 
I had to agree to oversee the setting up of the machine—and 
the regulating and all that. It’s bound to take a little time— 
it’s bound to, dear—and it won’t do for you to wait—oh no!” 

“But—don’t you think you can come soon?” . 

“Oh I do!” 

“You see, I”—she clung against him—‘“I wouldn’t care 


much about getting well if you weren’t there.” 

“My dear!” 

She seemed satisfied and nestled down. After a time she 
spoke again, a little mournfully. “I hoped we could do what 
we always thought we would as soon as you sold something. 
You know what we—what we planned.” 

“Yes, I know.” 

“Will there—will there be enough for that, too?” 

“More than enough.” 

“But I suppose this other’—with a little sighing breath— 
“T suppose it must come first.” 

“Tt must, my precious one.” 

“Yes, I know.” 

She had referred to their plan of having her get a divorce 
as soon as there was money enough to do it. 

After this they sat together, silent mostly. 

Suddenly Haworth realized he ought to go. He knew 
some arrangement had been made for detaining Findlay, but 
had kept no track of the time. Now a strong feeling that 
the hour was late took possession of him. For Edith’s peace 
of mind the fellow mustn’t find him there. But he couldn’t 
leave without going upstairs to little Mildred, asleep in her 
crib. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 219 


As they approached the door of the bedroom he stopped 
and caught Edith to him, holding her close in his arms. | 

“My dear,” he whispered, and her lips, as she looked up 
in his face, moved in a soundless “Yes.” 

After a moment they went on; but in that moment her 
heart began throbbing again with the same vague alarm she 
had felt before. 

Haworth had stopped when just within the door of the 
room and stood there for a little, looking across at the sleep- 
ing child; then he suddenly turned away and hurried down 
the stairs into the room below. Edith, following, felt her 
hands caught, with a sort of desperation, in his, and heard 
his whispered, “Good night . . . good night, my dear!” 

He released her hands and was turning to leave her, when 
the front door, opening and closing again with a violent bang, 
shook the flimsy little house, and instantly thereafter Augus- 
tus Findlay plunged into the room. He was out of breath 
from running, and frenzied with precisely the right mixture 
of vindictive jealousy and vicious alcohol to produce perfect 
ignition. 

“TI thought so!’ he shouted between his gasps for wind. 
“By God! I just got on to it they were trying to hold me 
back!” He glared across at Haworth. “What the hell you 
doing here in the house with my wife?’ He was pulling 
something like a glove on his right hand as he spoke. 

“T’m calling on Mrs. Findlay,” Haworth answered, quietly, 
_and turned toward Edith as if to say a final word. 

“Calling, were you?” Augustus was striding toward 
him. “Well if you’re calling Pve got to show my hand— 
an’ here it is you 


!” Saying which he 


220 _ THE ASTOUNDING! CRIME 


struck Haworth’ a ‘savage blow in the face withthe brass 
knuckles he’d been putting on his hand.: NED | 

Edith, uttering a subdued: cry, tried to run in, hetiwedt the 
two, but Haworth put out his hand and:held her back..He 
was standing quite unconcerned, though the blood.was ‘run- 
ning down the left; side of his face.from.an bie cut just 
under the eye. 

Turning to, Edith as though nothing out of rie way ae 
occurred, Haworth raised her hand to. his lips, looked deeply 
into her eyes, and huskily, murmuring, “Good-bye,” ; walked 
out of the room and out of the house. without so much as.a 
glance at F indlay. ay 

For an instant the two left there, stood silent ; then Augus- 
tus recovering himself made for the stairs, up which he 
rushed with stumbling feet. When he came pounding down 
again a moment later he found Edith blocking the way. 
“You shan’t go! hi she called out, breathlessly. “You shan’t 
go with that!” ' 

“What?” he demanded, stopping before her. 

“You've got it there under your coat!” 

“What if I have?” (Trying to pass her.) 

“You shan’t take it with you! ' No—no—no! 
holding to his arm and trying to reach the gun. - 

He shoved her violently aside and strode toward the door. 
“You think I’m going to stop for you, you — No, 
by God! an’ you’ll damned ‘well get it yourself when’ I come 
back!” And he was gone before she had time'to recover her- 
self. {82.0 : 


}?? 


She was 


Augustus knew the streets Haworth would be likely to take 
to get home,iand started after him-on a run+-an unsteady 


ON | TORRINGTON: ROAD: | | ge 


one; owing tothe load of, hoc he was carrying, but ie got 
over the ground. He had the gun’ gripped in his hand and 
was muttering threats and foul names as he plunged along. 

But: Haworth, realizing that his appearance would attract 
attention—for, though he continually’ wiped his face, it went 
on bleeding—turned off the most direct route through ‘the 
well-lighted’ business’ district of Egleston Square and’ Ja- 
maica Plain, into some of the quiet streets to the south. Even 
at that he had to pass through one of the’ lesser business 
neighborhoods where there were shops with vented AL 
and people about on the sidewalks. me 

“It was just along here that Findlay, not finding Haworth 
on the route he’d expected him to take and turning off into 
side streets running parallel thereto, came up with him, 
| Shouting threats and menacing him with his revolver, he 
strode along unsteadily by his side, attracting the attention 
of everybody within hearing. Quite a few who happened to 
be close at hand ran into shops or behind trees. Haworth’s 
bleeding face added to the general alarm. 

_ The young man suddenly turned on Findlay with a low- 
voiced warning. } 

“Keep away, from me or you'll get ‘nto trouble! !’’ he said, 
and instantly turned and walked as before. 

“Trouble!” Augustus,screamed. “You talk to me about 
trouble do. you, you ~ What in hell d’ye sup- 
pose sow re. going to get? I’ve been waiting for this chance 
for a year, by God! for more’n a year, by God! an’ now we'll 
see where. you get off, you , And on he 
went, letting out the foulest language he could lay his tongue 
to, with, Haworth. paying no further attention to him; and 


222 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


the two disappeared down a poorly lighted road which took 
them in the direction of Franklin Park. 

After this extraordinary and rather terrifying scene had 
shifted itself well past the little area of shops and light, sev- 
eral of those who had witnessed it came out from their places 
of refuge and a hurried consultation was held, the result of 
which was a telephonic report of the affair to police station 
13 in Jamaica Plain, and assurance from that quarter that a 
couple of men would be sent over. 

One man who'd been a spectator, had sufficient curiosity to 
follow Haworth and Augustus at a safe distance, and was 
joined later by another who saw them pass a couple of 
blocks further on. 

Haworth, dogged by the foul-mouthed nephew of old 
Michael Cripps, turned in at the mansion gate and went up 
the dark and weed-grown drive to the house. They mounted 
the steps of the front portico together, but when Augustus 
madeas if to follow him in, Haworth suddenly turned on him. 
“You can’t come in here,” he said. 

“We'll see whether I can or not!’ Findlay shouted, and 
began to fight his way past. 

“Very well, we will.” Saying which in his quiet way 
Haworth gripped Augustus by the collar and gave him a 
shove that sent him back across the portico nearly to the 
steps, and then turned and entered the house. Findlay 
rushed back toward the door, which, as he reached it, was 
slammed violently in his face and bolted inside. With an 
outburst of the most malignant profanity he sprang against 
it like a maniac, making frantic efforts to get it open, pound- 
ing and shouting and screaming threats until exhausted and 
out of breath. After panting and fuming there for a while 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 223 


the crazy idea took hold of him that he might get in at a 
window—or at least get a look in, which was all he wanted. 
One look—that was all! And he stumbled and felt his way 
along the east wall until he found himself under the large 
front window of the room on the left. The shutters were 
closed, but at the bottom of one of them, which was about 
on the level of his eyes as he stood on the ground, there were 
two or three broken slats, and with the frenzied fit of rage 
still shaking him like an ague he peered avidly in. 


Although Mrs. Temple had waited nearly two hours in the 
darkness about halfway down the drive, hoping to intercept 
Mr. Haworth on his return, she wasn’t there—as you’ve 
already gathered—when he finally did come. She’d been 
sitting for a long time in the grass at the side of the drive, 
her poor old heart beating the very life out of her with 
anxiety, when she suddenly became aware that a peculiar 
mechanical sound was coming from the direction of the man- 
sion. She’d heard it before while Mr. Haworth had been 
working in the basement. He must have got home by some 
other way than the drive, and she’d missed him. 

Limping back to the house, she got into the shrubbery near 
the side windows and tried to see into the room on the left, 
but it was still in darkness. She tried the other windows 
on that side with the same result. The entrance hall 
seemed to be the only place in the house where there was a 
light. The sounds in the house had now ceased. All was 
quiet. 

Then she heard a strident voice down the Torrington 
Road. Faint it was at first, but gradually growing louder 
as the man doing the shouting approached. Quarreling with 


a4 THE ASTOUNDING ‘CRIME 


some one he seemed to be! Oaths were screamed out, and'a 
great quantity of blackguardly language along with them. 
.-As the abusive and threatening clamor became more dis- 
tinct Mrs. Temple realized that the parties concerned » were 
turning’ in’at the gate and coming up the drive. OM 
‘Intensely alarmed, she moved through the shrubbery to the 
front corner ofthe house; where she'could get a view eit the 
dimly lighted portico: | : 15 10 OW 
It was only a moment before bee ety closely hounded by 
Augustus, appeared out of the darkness of the drive, and the 
old woman caught the metallic glint-of something that Find- 
lay had in his:‘hand. ‘Without an‘instant’s hesitation she hob- 
bled toward him; if she’could have got there she’d have torn 
the gun away from him or°been’ shot in the attempt. But 
before she’d gone halfway the two‘ had! mounted the ‘steps; 
anda second later’ Augustus’ was een ne back, vane the 
door slammed in ‘his’ face.’ | ashi i 
Owing to Findlay’s outcries and his flerce senie against 
the door; Mrs.Temple could at first: hear nothing’ else, ‘but 
when his hammering and shouting subsided’a little she began 
to notice again those strange noises from within: ' Upon’ this 
she hurried: back along the side of the house, stillavoiding the 
footpath and keeping in the bushes. ‘Determined now to get 
in, even though against’ Mr. Haworth’s wishes, she made for 
the kitchen door, but couldn’t open it; and another rear door 
giving into the back hall was also locked:' Then*she remem- 
bered the basemententrance at the bottom of'the stone steps. 
She found the door there fastened, as she’d expected, ‘but 
there was a sécret way to slide:the bolt back by reaching in 
through an-apertute in the side and finding’ a'cord'to pullio > 
The cord: was there; but: she couldn’t make.it work: It was 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD’! | 225 


tied in some vie and? after desperate attempts she ras to 
give it up. © SHEER | tgttl 
She was Nihedie terrified, ole teat station pea isis 
get into the house with his knife or pistol'and: do: Mr. Ha- 
worth some fearful injury. In addition to this danger some- 
thing alarming was going on inside: She'could hear hurried 
footsteps and’ what seemed to her strange menacing sounds. 
She started back toward the front’ of the house, hobbling 
atid ‘stumbling through the shrubbery, thinking she’ might 
find somebody’ down i in' Torrington Road who'd come to: her 
assistance. “9. Pree EET fO0 EW 
But as’she came toward the side windows of the room’ on 
the ‘left, she was amazed to see that, instead: of’ the darkness 
that had prevailed, an unusually brilliant light was shining 
out in ‘narrow ‘beams’ below the roller shades. At both win- 
dows these shades had now been pulled down, but as is quite 
commonly the ease, they weren’t quite long enough to reach 
the’ bottom of the windows. She hurried’ to:the one nearest 
to ne front of the house and looked in through ths narrow 
slit. : 
At once she saw: Mr. Etdmbvttb seated by the hivire eabtes 
reading’ a*booky» She watched him ‘intently as he ‘sat there 
occasionally turning! the pages. _He seemed entirely. at ease 
and untroubled: There was nothing about him that gave the 
idea of anything being’ wrong or out-of the: way. Itamazed 
her that he could recover entire equanimity so soon‘after the 
frightful time he’d been having with Augustus ‘Findlay. | 
.As’she watched him he: began to feelin his pockets in the 
absent-minded way she knew'so well, bringing out his’ pipe 
and tobacco’ pouch; then ‘he stopped ‘reading and began to 


226 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


fill the pipe. It looked so safe and commonplace after her 
frightful imaginings and premonitions, that she hesitated 
about calling out to him, as she’d fully intended to do. 

Now he rose and got a box of matches from the mantel, 
returning with it to the table. She had a momentary im- 
pulse to speak to him through the glass, but his singularly 
calm and reassuring behavior made her hesitate. Could it 
be that she was mistaken after all? 

Quite suddenly something peculiar startled her—a moving 
shadow on the floor it seemed to be, and she realized that the 
whole room-couldn’t be seen from where she was: the back 
part, where the doors to the breakfast room and the butler’s 
pantry were, was out of sight. This was behind Haworth as 
he stood at the table lighting his pipe, and a wave of horror 
swept over her as she started for the window farther back 
which would give her a view of it. 

The aperture below the shade at this window was very 
narrow, but she twisted round, and looking sideways was 
able to see through into the room. 

At last! The frightful thing had come! Standing there 
behind Mr. Haworth and aiming a terrible black thing 
straight at his head, a man, his face hidden by a cloth or 
bandage, his clothes clinging to him as though soaking wet. 
. . . She didn’t stop to see any more, but screamed out a 
frantic warning, at the same time starting back for the other 
window where she could see Haworth. 

As she turned she saw dimly by the light sifting out under 
the shades, that a man carrying a stepladder was hurrying 
down the walk toward the front of the house, and she called 
to him as she ran, but didn’t stop to see whether he heard 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 227 


or not. In an instant she was back at the other window and 
looking in. Haworth was standing close to the table, half 
leaning on it and holding a lighted match to his pipe, emitting 
quick puffs of smoke as he drew on it. She shrieked out his 
name and beat on the glass with her hands. But she’d no 
more than begun this when two shots rang out—one close 
aiter the other and with reports so deafening that they 
seemed to shake the house. 

The old woman was unable to move, frozen, paralyzed, 
seeing Haworth spin round as he was hit, and after a weak 
attempt to hold to the table for support, sink to the floor. 
Almost at the same time her own trembling legs gave way 
and she sank down, lying half on the ground and half 
against the low-growing bushes beneath the window. But 
only for the briefest moment was she there, for she’d hardly 
more than gone down when she was struggling to her feet 
again. And as she did so she saw by the light still shining 
through under the roller shade, that the man who'd been run- 
ning along the path must have stopped and dropped the lad- 
der, for he was picking it up; and as she stumbled blindly 
through the bushes toward the rear of the house he started 
running toward the front, dragging the ladder after him 
along the walk. 

The doors of the kitchen and back hall were still locked, 
but she found that some one had opened the basement en- 
trance and she got in there. 

Two policemen arriving shortly after—smashing a side 
window to get in, as there wasn’t time to fumble with the 
doors—found the old woman on the floor holding Haworth’s 
limp body in her arms, his head fallen back against her 
breast. 


228 THE: ASTOUNDING CRIME 


» The patrolmen who smashed their way into the house some 
twenty-six minutes after the firing of the shots, were sent 
from Station’13. The desk sergeant got the phone call from 
citizens in Jamaica Plain; describing the terrifying ‘progress 
through that district of the two quarreling men with revolv- 
ers—blood streaming down the face of one) of them. ~He 
sent a'man:from the station, and also the patrolman’ on the 
nearest beat as soon as his call came ‘in. » These two had no 
difficulty in picking up the trail of consternation left along 
the route that Haworth: and Findlay had taken... But when 
they’d followediit a short distance beyond Jamaica Plain the 
two citizens whose curiosity had led them into trailing ‘the 
quarreling men in order to see what happened, came sprint- 
ing down the road in a‘ frantic effort to get away;: for 
they’d been close to the mansion when the shooting took place 
and knew that if someone was shot ad eabiit might west on 
them.’ | a { : / : 
The patrolmen: took these men for the ones iets were 
after and grabbed them. But in a minute they saw there ‘was 
something else to it; and after a bit of time wasted in sharp 
questioning they got at the truth and made a run for the 
Cripps’ mansion, bringing the two ‘citizens along’ with them 
Material witnesses at least, and a good chance they'd’ hada 
hand: in it—whatever it was. After smashing one of the 
kitchen windows these two citizen chaps were shoved in first 
and stood back against the wall with orders not to move: 
Then the officers, working with their electric torches (for all 
the lights were now off) ran through the butler’s pantry, 
guided by the pungent smell of gunpowder, and‘ an instant 
later found what they were looking for. 

A quick glance at Haworth was all they needed. One tock 


ON TORRINGTON 'ROAD | 229 


charge; the other ran for the nearest patrol box and reported 
to his station. The station notified headquarters, and down 
came a départment automobile with the chief: inspector’ and 
three plain-clothes men and after that the medical examiner 
(called*coroner in’ most places)‘ and'two more’ uniformed 
men. (They need a few uniforms in‘a case like this’ so peo- 
ple won’t think it’s a hold-up.) 

The medical examiner came in his-own car, bringing his 
stenographer and a surveyor with him, as was his custom: » I 
don’t think it’s the usual thing to:run\a surveyor in, outside 
of Boston. Of course there were’ photographers and all 
that, and it’ wasn’t’ any time at all before iliac 
were swarming about. 

Mrs. ‘Temple'hardly noticed sinitifan apeopee that i 
lights went suddenly on—until she found herself being urged 
back’ by one’ of the ‘policemen—he was: gentle enough: with 
the old woman—toward the swing door of the butler’s pan- 
try.’ James Dreek was standing just within the door, looking 
pale and frightened, with a sort of wild-eyed blankness: on 
his’ faces\'‘The officer told: them they'd have to:go back into 
the kitchen, and Dreek disappeared''in that direction, but 
Mrs. Temple tried to resist, looking back to: where men were 
bending over Haworth—the surveyor making measurements 
of positions and distances, working by compass ; the medical 
examiner cutting away parts of his clothing. She'made an 
effort to push’ past the policeman and get back to the body, 
but he prevented her, speaking with rough kindness: “Now, 
- now, ma’am, you won’t be allowed over there!’’) But as he 
looked)at the old woman ‘he saw it wasn’t an ordinary case. 

2 “One'o’ the family; ma’am?’’ he asked in a low voice. 
aves. Let meiby!) | 


230 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“You can’t do anything, lady—he’s past help.” 

“T can be there with ’im, can’t 1?” 

“Not now, ma’am—but if you’re one o’ the family they'll 
let you in afterwards.” 

She said no more, but went where he directed. There were 
a number of persons waiting in the kitchen—all exits from 
which were guarded—but she didn’t notice them, nor had she 
any idea of what was going on—that the detectives were 
searching every part of the house and going over the grounds 
outside with electric torches; that a couple of plain-clothes 
men were out after the man who’d followed Haworth 
through the streets, threatening him with a revolver; that 
the people waiting there in the room with her were being 
taken into another room one by one, to be questioned. 


Some time later she found herself in the great entrance 
hall, standing before a man at an improvised desk of rough 
boarding. ‘There were police about and a plain-clothes man 
was writing things on sheets of paper. Two or three others 
not in uniform were standing near, apparently uninterested, 
but in reality watching her like cats. The old woman 
glanced at the various people in the room, hardly aware that 
they were real. It might just as well have been a dream. 
After a time she thought she heard some one speaking to her. 

“What?” she asked, looking about vaguely. 

An officer came to her and explained that she must answer 
the questions. 

“What questions?” she inquired. 

It appeared there was curiosity as to her name, age, and 
occupation. She gave the information in a low mumbling 
voice, speaking absently. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD ye 


That out of the way, the inspector, noticing that she was 
inattentive, began with sharp emphasis: 

“Mrs. Temple, you knew the deceased, did you not?” 

The old woman turned to him, startled, and stood looking 
at him a moment. Then she looked away, glancing rather 
vaguely about the room. She was beginning to realize where 
she was and what was going on. 

“Well, are we going to hear anything from you this 
evening ?” 

““Are you the perlice?” she asked with a sharpness of her 
own. 

“You're here to answer questions—not to ask them.” 

“T’d like to know if you’re the perlice, that’s all!” 

“This is a police investigation, if that’s what you mean. 
We're taking testimony throwing light on the crime just 
committed here. You may be able to help us.” 

“No ” Mrs. Temple shook her old gray head. “I 
won't be able to help ye none.” 

“You mean you don’t know anything about it?” 

“TI mean what I told ye—that I won’t be able to help ye 
none.” 

“You don’t seem to realize your position, madam. We can 
compel you to answer questions here. But you ought to be 
willing to give us any information you can without that, so 
we can find the guilty man and bring him to the punishment 
he deserves.” 

“What good’ll punishment do, I’d like to know? What’s 
the good o’ that to—to the poor dear man lyin’ there—shot 
down like a dog he was—doin’ no harm to no one—juss 
standin’ there lightin’ his pipe—and shot down like a dog!” 
She was unable to go on for a moment; but having caught 


ae | THE ‘ASTOUNDING CRIME 


what she said about Haworth lighting his pipe, the inspector 
waited for her. He would give her plenty of time and nurse 
her along, for it looked very much as p nOReD aes been a 
‘witness to the actual shooting: 

‘A nice lot of folks you be,” the old woman finally went on 
in’ a’ broken voice but with deep indignation back of “it. 
“What was ye doin’ before, I’d like to know, asettin’ around 
offices an’ paradin’ tip and ‘down the streets! ‘When I went 
an’ warned ye more’n a week ago that we was in danger 
over here, I was told there’ warn’t nothin’ you could’ do— 
not till somebody done somethin’. Well, now some one’s done 
somethin’ an’ ye come hurryin’ around askin’ us all! about it! 
But ye needn’t take no trouble: askin’ me. I’ve ‘told ‘ye all 
I’ve got to tell. “I told itto one of yer perlice a-strollin’ 
up'an’ down Ceritre Street 1 ina nice aa with brass awit 
tons on it!” O3 1 YEO 2 O27 0G 

The inspector made no'attempt to interrupt or cut short 
Mrs. Temple’s somewhat fervent remarks, and ‘when’ she’d 
quite finished ‘he spoke to her in a carefully softened tone. 

“You're certainly right, Mrs. Temple,” he said, “as to its 
being too late to do anything now for the—the unfortunate 
victim in this case. His murder was, ‘as you indicate, ‘a most 
cold-blooded ‘crime. Every’ additional particular that’ is 
‘brought out adds'to its cruelty and brutality. And was ‘it 
really a fact, as I think you intimated, that the poor fellow 
was lighting his pipe as the shots were fired?” He looked 
sympathetically and inquiringly at the old: woman: © 

But’ Mrs. ‘Temple’s' mouth was shut and there were’ no 
signs visible that she had any intention of opening it. 

“Rot in jail’ before she’d talk if°she didn’t want to,’ was 
the’ inspector’s unspoken’ comment. Well, they’d* have: to 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 233 


make her want to, that was all. So she was excused, almost 
with apologies, and allowed to go where she pleased. But 
wherever that was a detective would be on the job and not 
lose track of her for an instant. 


All available information was in, but the plain-clothes men 
were still working through the house and grounds. No 
weapon of any kind had yet been found, and no bullet marks 
discovered in the room. The theory regarding the latter was 
that the bullets (it was taken for granted they’d been fired 
through the front window) struck against the masonry of 
the fireplace or chimney and left no noticeable mark. In 
that case, however, they should have been found where they 
dropped—and the search for them was still going on. 

Notwithstanding there were any number of witnesses to 
the following of Haworth home by an infuriated man using 
the most abusive language and threatening him with a re- 
volver, no one could be found who had any idea who this 
person was. Nor had anyone seen him make an attack on 
Haworth that would result in the cut and bruise which had 
been found on his face. The two Jamaica Plains citizens 
who'd followed the quarreling couple to the house gave as 
good a description of him as could be expected. But their 
statement that the instant before the shots were fired he was 
peering in through the large window at the left of the en- 
trance portico and had his revolver gripped in his hand, was 
- positive and unshaken. Also that he stayed there a few sec- 
-onds after the firing,—though they could not make out what 

he was doing,—and then turned suddenly and dashed madly 
down the drive into Torrington Road. Everything pointed to 
this person as the man they wanted, and the inspector had 


234 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


detectives out after him when the taking of testimony had 
hardly begun. 

The report of the medical inspector with the “survey” at- 
tached, showing all distances, positions, heights, measure- ~ 
ments of everything in the room, as well as all particulars 
relating to the body of the murdered man, had been turned 
in. Out of this technical mass of information a few facts 
adapted to the limited intelligence of the layman could be 
extracted. Charles Haworth’s tragic death resulted from 
whichever of the two gunshot wounds found upon him was 
inflicted first.- Either would have caused it instantly. The 
shots were discharged from a distance of from fifteen to 
twenty feet. No chance therefore existed of the wounds 
being self-inflicted. The distance of the weapon or weapons 
at the instant of discharge, the locality of the wounds and 
the course of the projectiles through the body, made such a 
feat impossible. Both missiles had come from behind the 
victim, one entering at the back of the head and drilling the 
brain, the other striking near the middle of the spine and 
passing through the heart. There were no burns or powder 
marks on the clothing nor on the head or body, where the 
projectiles went in. 

The upward course of the bullets demonstrated two things 
—and you can see from both of them how nicely the services 
of a surveyor came in: first, Haworth must have been stand- 
ing when he was shot, for otherwise the assailant couldn’t 
have got low enough down to fire at the angle shown; second, 
even with Haworth standing, the weapon must have been 
held well down to give the bullets their upward course; but 
as accurate aim (which had evidently been taken) would 
have been difficult if not impossible while holding the gun 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 235 


down within two or three inches of the floor, the probability 
was that the assailant had been standing outside of one of 
the windows and had fired into the room from near the 
bottom of it. | 

The detectives had a fresh filled pipe—the tobacco on top 
hardly more than singed; a book fallen open on its face, 
crumpling the leaves; a box of matches; one partly burned 
match—all from the floor close to the body. The exact posi- 
tion of each article was given in the survey. 

Haworth had evidently been reading and had stopped to fill 
and light his pipe as the first of the two bullets made an end 
of him. No evidence of a struggle with anyone—none that 
he had an idea of what was about to happen. 


Two persons concerned in this tragic affair got away from 
the mansion and its vicinity before the arrival of the police— 
Hugo Pentecost from within, slipping out quietly through 
the basement entrance, proceeding through the rear of the 
property and coming into town by way of Brookline,—thus 
avoiding Torrington Road and Roxbury altogether; and Au- 
gustus Findlay from the front, rushing blindly down the 
drive like.a wild man pursued by seven devils. | 

After one fearful moment when he’d stood, stunned and 
paralyzed, looking through the broken slats near the bottom 
of the shutters of the front window—the booze suddenly 
swept from his system—the crashing reports of the shots 
ringing in his ears and Haworth lying there in a crumpled 
_heap on the floor, Findlay was suddenly recalled to himself 
by feeling the weight of something dragging down his right 
arm; and raising it into a bar of light coming through the 
chinks in the shutter, he saw his revolver gripped in his hand, 


236 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


his forefinger still hooked to the trigger. He knew—hazily, 
but he knew it—that he’d been following Haworth and 
threatening him with the gun. . . . And so at last he’d done 
it! Ina drunken frenzy he’d killed a man! Murder—mur- — 
der—that was it! The crime they hang people for or sizzle 
the life out of them, strapped in an electric chair! They'd 
have jim for that if he stayed there. Flight was his only 
chance, yet he couldn’t move. He saw the lights suddenly go 
off in the house—somebody already there! A moment later 
he heard a loud voice within calling out something, yet still 
his feet were weighted with lead. Then came the sound of 
quick footsteps from around the southeast corner. Some one 
was coming down the path at the side of the house and drag- 
ging some heavy wooden thing—he heard it grating along 
the stone flagging. Wheeling about with a desperate jerk, he 
fled madly down the drive. 

Findlay had been running only a few minutes (he was out 
on the Torrington Road by this time) when he suddenly 
thought of his gun. It mustn’t be found on him! Looking 
frantically about, he saw a thick clump of shrubbery on one 
of the front lawns and quite near the road. No one would 
look for it there! But as he stopped to pitch the weapon over 
the fence he discovered that he was being followed! He 
mustn’t be seen throwing the thing away—that alone would 
convict him! There was nothing to do but run with the gun 
in his hand. Perhaps he could see a hole or drain where he 
could drop it without a noticeable motion as he ran. 


Somewhere about the time the homicide squad arrived at 
the Cripps mansion an individual whose clothing set him 
down as a laboring man and who was evidently carrying a 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 237 


load of something with more than one-half of one per cent 
alcoholic content, walked a trifle unsteadily into the South 
Station by the Atlantic Avenue entrance, looked blankly 
about, and then stopped a man who was hurrying past and 
asked where there was a telephone. On having the booths 
pointed out to him, he mumbled a thick “mush obliged” and 
made his way to them, getting into No. 19 and occupying it 
for some little time. Then he reappeared in the concourse, 
and after further inquiries of various persons, found the 
gate for the 11:35 p.m. train for New York (“Advanced” 
time). With much fumbling in his pockets and boozy mut- 
terings as a running. accompaniment thereto, he produced a 
ticket, and after passing in at the gate tried to give it up to 
the Pullman and train conductors seated at a table just 
inside; they, however, refusing to take it—as only Pullman 
passengers gave their tickets there—he went on toward the 
train, and eventually climbed aboard one of the day coaches. 

Walking bravely down the aisle, finding not a little assist- 
ance from the friendly arms and backs of the seats on each 
side, he half fell into an unoccupied seat—the next to the last 
at the extreme forward end. It might have been observed 
(but it wasn’t) that this seat gave a person the advantage of 
having all the lights of the car at his back, leaving his face in 
comparative obscurity. 

Not long after the train passed the Back Bay station this 
man was half asleep, his head bobbing about; and the con- 
ductor took'his ticket from the band of his cap where he had 
stuck it, and passed on without getting a view of his face. 

On arrival at the Grand Central a few minutes before six 
in the morning (a few minutes before five, standard) he was 
left snoozing in his seat after the rest of the passengers had 


238 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


filed out. A moment or two later the head end trainman, run- 
ning through the coaches to see that all was clear, stopped 
and shook him, not altogether gently, into consciousness, yell- _ 
ing as he did so, “All out—all out—Grand Central! ... 
You get out here!” 

The drowsy chap, coming to himself and doubtless being 
considerably hazy, conceived that he was being attacked, and 
hit out in all directions. The result was a scuffle of wrestling 
and pulling, all the more eagerly entered into by the train- 
man because of having had a lot of trouble during the night 
trying to keep the fellow’s muddy boots off the seat in front 
of him, throwing them off by main force a number of times. 
The present struggle ended in the enraged passenger falling 
in the aisle and being dragged out by his feet to the station 
platform. 


On this same morning the steamer North Land, from the 
stern of which Mr. Pentecost had rather skillfully disem- 
barked a few hours after she left Boston, came down the 
Sound and through Hell Gate, emerging into the East River 
at about eight o’clock, daylight-saving time. Half an hour 
later she was rounding the Battery into the North River, and 
not long after that was backing into her berth alongside 
Pier 18. 

By this time most of the passengers were massed in the 
saloon lobby of the hurricane deck, their small luggage in 
their hands, ready to go ashore through the starboard door 
of that lobby as soon as the steamer was made fast and the 
gangplank run out from the wharf. Nearly every officer and 
steward and deckhand was on duty on the starboard side, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 239 


which was the landing side in this instance, as the steamer 
slowly backed in alongside her wharf. 

A small rowboat had been lying close up under the string- 
pieces at the shore end of the pier. There were three men 
in it, apparently of the deckhand order, and they had mops 
and pails in the bottom of the boat and across the seats. 
They had rowed in there some time before the arrival of 
the steamer, coming along the south side of the slip among 
the barges and scows of the New York Central Railroad 
Company which, at this time, occupied the pier on that side 
as a freight terminal. 

As the North Land came slowly gliding in stern first, the 
men in the rowboat pulled out into the middle of the slip and 
waited there. A moment after she was made fast and the 
crew on the fantail had gone forward, a man in the uniform. 
of a ship’s officer stepped out of the passageway near the 
stern on the port side (the passengers were to disembark on 
the starboard) and motioned to the men in the rowboat, upon 
which they pulled up close under the guard and began to 
make an examination of the hull near the water line. Soon 
after this they had mops out and appeared to be swabbing off 
something on the ship’s side, the officer overlooking the job 
from the rail above them. A moment later there were two 
others watching them, not in the ship’s uniform, one from 
some distance forward on the port outside passageway, and 
the other from near the stern end of it where it opens into 
the fantail., These men each had a movie camera focussed 
on the party in the rowboat, and when one of the swabbers 
was trying to get at a place that was too high to reach and 
the officer dropped him a rope ladder, the two men kept their 
cameras trained on him as he clambered up and stepped over 


240 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


the rail into the passage, and still followed him as he was 
reaching down the ship’s side with his mop in one hand while 
clinging to the rail with the other. 

This man—the deckhand or swabber who had come aboard 
by the rope ladder—got somehow mixed with one or two 
others of his kind who came out into the passage, but eventu- 
ally he could be seen climbing down the ladder again and into 
the boat ; and very soon after that the three rowed lazily away 
with their buckets and mops. The officer hauled the rope 
ladder aboard and disappeared through the “emergency exit” 
into the ship’s cabin, and the men with the cameras were 
already gone, one walking forward along the port passage- 
way, and the one who had been near the stern passing round 
to the starboard side by way of the fantail. Everything was 
smoothly and rapidly done, the whole thing occupying 
scarcely four minutes from the time the rowboat came up 
to the ship’s side. 

It’s hardly necessary to tell you that after this little per- 
formance was over, the man who climbed the rope ladder 
with his mop was still on board the steamer, and that the man 
with the same mop who went down the ladder into the row- 
boat was another person altogether. Nor is it of the least 
importance to mention names, for you gentlemen can hardly 
fail to be aware that it was Mr. Pentecost who thus came 
aboard and that it was one of his “trusties’—made up and 
dressed to appear in every way like him—who slid down into 
the rowboat; so that it might be seen, if anyone kept account 
of such things, that the number of men in it when it was 
rowed away from the steamer was not less than when it came 
up under the stern. And, as you can readily imagine—if 
you have not already done so—the entire scene was played, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 241 


as one might say, for outside consumption only—that is, for 
whoever might be about in boats or barges or on the railway 
pier opposite. No one connected with the steamer could 
have any knowledge of it; a passenger approaching from 
either direction on one of the passages would have been 
begged, by whichever camera man blocked the way, to wait 
just a moment until the picture was taken; an officer or sea- 
man would receive quite the same request, but with the added 
explanation that their film concern had obtained permission 
from the Eastern Steamship Lines, Inc., to photograph a 
bunch of seamen (which is to say, actors posing as such) 
swabbing blood off the steamer’s side. 

No one would have recognized Pentecost in the confusion, 
even had he been seen; and it was perfectly true that such 
permission had been asked and granted. Indeed, the com- 
pany had loaned an officer’s uniform to help it along. There 
seemed to have been a little misunderstanding as to dates, 
but that was a small matter. Back of it all, if it ever got 
to it, they'd have found a company and a scenario, and a 
couple of thousand feet of film already taken. 


The passengers, herded in the saloon lobby of the hurri- 
cane deck, which was the one they were to disembark from, 
were growing impatient. Those nearest the open door on 
the starboard side had noticed a couple of men on the dock 
in conversation with a policeman, and the moment the gang- 
_ plank was run out the latter had given a signal of some kind 
and the ship’s officers held everybody back. The two men 
came aboard at once and went with the Purser into his office, 
where they scanned the passenger list. A little later the 
Captain came to the door and the Purser asked him to step 


242 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


in a moment. Shortly after that the Steward and head waiter 
were sent for. Then (the whole affair had hardly taken 
five minutes) the two men went ashore with the Purser, and 
at once the ship’s officers who were blocking the way stood 
aside, the two ticket-takers from the New York office took 
their places, and the passengers began to leave the steamer. 

Near the foot of the gangplank in the vast dock building 
was a corner partition where the passengers coming ashore 
made a turn to the right. Back in this corner, which com- 
manded a view of the people filing past the two ticket takers 
and down the gangplank, stood the Purser with the two men 
who had been looking over the passenger list in his office. 

It was toward the end of the stream of disembarking pas- 
sengers that Mr. Pentecost and the two Harkers, father and 
son, came into view at the top of the gangway, with one of 
the stewards carrying their luggage. As they came ashore 
and were approaching the right-hand turn, the Purser stepped 
out and shook hands with them, trusting they’d had a restful 
night after their strenuous day in Boston, and wishing them 
good luck with their new invention. All was in the most 
jovial manner, and the three passed on toward the street. 
But before they’d got there one of the stewards came run- 
ning after them and said that if they had time the Purser 
would like to see them for just a minute. “Why, certainly,” 
Pentecost said. “Tell him we'll be right along!” 

Harker was alarmed and started to say something under 
his breath, but Pentecost growled in a half whisper, without 
looking at him, “Can’t you see everything they do stamps it!” 

Alfred went on toward the street to get a taxi, and the 
two partners turned back. 

The Purser was still on the dock near the gangplank, but 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 243 


the two men who’d been with him were gone—at least, not in 
sight. But don’t imagine that fooled Pentecost any. 

“Didn’t mean to trouble you,” Mr. Lawson called out as 
the two came near. 

“No trouble,” said Pentecost. 

“Not at all,” added Harker. ‘‘What’s going?” 

“Why, I’ve just heard something that might concern you 
gentlemen in a business way. Man came aboard a minute 
ago and was telling about a hell of a murder last night over 
in Boston.” 

“Murder, eh?” said Harker, with the interest such news 
might naturally inspire—but no more. 

“What makes you think we’d be concerned?’ Pentecost 
inquired. 

“Hardly a chance you are—only he said it was out in West 
Roxbury, and I remembered you told us your man a 

“What was the name—did he say?’ Pentecost asked 
quickly and with awakening anxiety—just the right amount 
you know—not the merest trifle overdone. 

“Why no, I don’t think he did.” 

Pentecost glanced at Harker and Harker at him. 

“A lot of things might happen in West Roxbury,” he said, 
turning back to the Purser. 

“Sure they might,” assented that official ; “but he saidit was 
an inventor chap living out there alone.” 

“Inventor!” exclaimed Pentecost. “Living out By 
George! And all that,money we ” He broke off, and 
suddenly turning to go was heard to say, “I’ve got to make 
a run for a train!” 

Harker emitted a ‘““My God!” and followed his partner up 
the dock. But Pentecost stopped suddenly a few yards away, 


244 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


where he could still be seen and heard by the Purser (or any- 
one concealed in the vicinity), and pulling out a N. Y., N. H.- 
& H. Railroad folder, began looking for express trains to 
Boston. 

“That’s right,” Harker said, coming up to him. “We'll 
get the first train out!” | 

The Purser was approaching them. 

“You stay here,” said Pentecost. “There’s a lot of busi- 
ness at the office. I can wire if I want you. Here”—looking 
at the folder—‘‘‘New York to Boston’—I ought to get the 
nine o'clock.” 

“No—’ (from Harker) “half past nine now!” 

“That’s Daylight—railroad’s on Standard.” 

“So it is—train’s ten our time—just make it!” 

Pentecost seized the Purser’s hand. “Thank you very 
much, Mr. Lawson. You’ve done us a great favor.” And 
as he was turning to go: “We paid that man something like 
thirty thousand yesterday. A yegg’s run up on him—that’s 
what it is!” He hurried out to the street and jumped into 
the taxi that Alfred was holding, pushed a five-dollar bill 
into the driver’s hand with “Grand Central—make time!” 
and shouting out a few parting directions to Harker as the 
taxi started with a great jerk (the driver was earning his 
money) he was whirled away into the traffic. 


The man who was following Augustus Findlay as he fled 
wildly away from the Cripps mansion a few seconds after the 
sound of the two revolver shots split the air, wasn’t by any 
means putting a shadow on him, but was running him close, 
never less than thirty yards behind, and a flash on him from 
his pocket torch whenever it was safe to throw a light. His 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 245 


name was Graham and he knew his business. He kept so 
near that Findlay didn’t get a chance to pitch his gun any- 
where, and what’s more, I doubt if he could have done it if 
he’d got the chance, for the minute he realized he was being 
followed and the light flashed on him every few seconds, he 
was virtually on the scrap heap—which is to say, out of his 
head with terror. 

It was in a quiet block of Collamore Street over near the 
railroad tracks that Graham ran up on him and bumped 
him against the iron post or column of a street light. This 
nearly knocked Findlay over, but Graham got him by the 
throat and shut off his wind before he had a chance to fall, 
and in his wild struggles to loosen Graham’s grip so he could 
get air, and Graham doing some extra thrashing about trying 
to hold him, it gave the idea there was the liveliest kind of a 
fight on; and a man in his shirt sleeves, who'd been sitting 
smoking a pipe at a second-story window nearly above, com- 
menced to yell at them to quit. 

From that minute you could see that Graham was trying to 
get Findlay’s revolver away from him, twisting his arm, 
trying to bite his fingers loose, and all the while shouting out, 
“You damn dirty sneak, gimme that gun! Gimme the gun, 
I say! It’s the gun I want!” and things like that. And 
Augustus, who was terrified, thinking they were after the 
thing to prove murder on him, clung to it with the tenacity 
of an octopus. 

The man at the second-story window, whose name it later 
appeared was Rathbun, finding yelling to the two scrappers 
was no good, came downstairs and out at the street door of 
the tenement building; but seeing—or, to be more accurate, 
hearing what it was they were fighting for, hesitated in the 


246 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


doorway, as he had an aversion to being shot up. In this 
instant of Rathbun’s hesitation Graham gave Augustus a 
smash in the face that made him loosen his hold, and then 
snatching the revolver out of his hands turned and raced up 
Collamore Street, carrying it by the muzzle; and Rathbun 
noticed, as the man swung into a street light, that the hand 
he was holding it with had a glove on it. 

After Graham got safely away, Rathbun went out to Find- 
lay, who was lying in the road, and tried to find out what 
it was all about and whether he was hurt. But he couldn’t 
get anything out of the fellow. 

After a few moments Findlay got to his feet unsteadily, 
stared blankly at Rathbun for a second or two, then wheeled 
around and went limping down the street toward the rail- 
road. <A sorry-looking object he was, battered and torn and 
plastered with mud. But his mental condition was sorrier. 
_ Maudlin and devastating fright possessed him. He’d done a 
murder—murder—murder! Shot a man, killed a man, and 
they were hunting for him—they’d get him! Drunkenness 
no defense. He’d looked that up before, when he really 
thought of doing it! This time he didn’t think. And he’d 
done it! 

He stopped. If he went home they’d get him there. But if 
he tried to get away it would be the same as a confession of 
guilt. If he went home he could deny everything—insist that 
he didn’t know what they were talking about—that he hadn’t 
left the house all that evening. Edith must back him up. 
That is, if anyone came for him. But after all, why should 
they? No one could possibly have seen him at the Haworth 
place. It was dark as pitch. And the shutters were closed, 
so no light shone on him. Yet who could the man have been 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 247 


who got his revolver? Just a plain hold-up, that’s what it 
was. Yet he thought he’d heard him following from way ~ 
back near Torrington Road. But if he was a detective he’d 
have arrested him. And, anyway, a detective couldn’t have 
got on the job thirty seconds after Haworth was k ; 
Great God! He couldn’t say it even to himself. 

With his mind seething, he stumbled up the two steps to 
his front door and stopped there with his hand on the knob 
and a quick glance up the street, thinking he heard some one 
following. He turned with a sudden terror and tried to open 
the door, but it was locked. He shook it and pounded on it, 
and the instant he heard Edith turn the key in the lock he 
burst in, closed the door frantically after him, and stood 
pushing against it as if trying to keep some one out. 

Edith stood quiet, watching his feverish terror. When he 
finally ceased his violent pushing against the door she spoke. 
“Tell me,” she said. | 

“Tell you what? Whad’ ye mean? I ain’t got anything 
to tell!’ 

“You have.” 

“T have not! I been in a fight, that’s all. A hell of a dirty 
footpad jumped on me—just over the other side of the rail- 
road—but he didn’t get any money—he only took my gun!” 

“Your revolver ?” 

“Can’t you hear what I say?” 

“What had you been doing with it?” 

“What had I just had it along. How could I be do- 
ing anything when he took it away from me!” The man 
was almost sobbing. “You ain’t got any right to talk to me 
like that! You’d ought to help me—that’s what you’d ought 
todo! I’m going to bed and you tell ’em I was here all this 


248 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


evening! You can do that much for me, I should think. I 
was here reading a book, that book over there on the stand— 
that’s all you got to say. What’s the harm o’ that? Just tell 
?em I was here reading that book P” 

Edith shook her head. 

Then followed begging and crying and protesting on his 
part, but with no response on hers. She didn’t speak again. 

After Augustus had gone whining upstairs and locked 
himself in his bedroom, Edith opened the front door and 
looked out into the dismal night. She was hesitating. If it 
hadn’t been for leaving little Mildred alone in the house with 
the crazed brute (who had often threatened to kill the child) 
she’d have hurried through the dark streets to Torrington 
Road. She knew from her husband’s behavior that some- 
thing fearful had happened, yet without an idea of how 
terrible it was. 

Finally she sat on a chair in the small living room and 
waited. There was nothing else to do. 


It was early morning when they came—still dark. Edith 
heard their feet on the wooden steps and then the heavy 
knock on the front door. 

Two men stood there, dressed in ordinary clothes. And 
she could see a uniformed policeman moving back at the side 
of the house. It was the patrolman on the beat who'd been 
phoned from headquarters to keep an eye on the place till the 
Inspectors got there. Now they’d come and were sending 
him to cover the rear. 

The men at the door were roughly polite. They were 
sorry to disturb her, but was Mr. Findlay at home? 

MES. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 249 


“We'd like to see him.” 

“He’s in his room upstairs. Ill tell him you’re here.” 

But as she turned to go the man who’d been speaking 
called after her: 

“Tf it’s all the same to you we'll go—— Which room 
is it?” 

“The back one—farthest from the stairs.” 

“Thank you ma’am.” 

The men ran up, and she heard their loud knocking on 
the door and gruff orders to Findlay to open it. 

Then came the crash of splintering wood (the door was a 
flimsy affair) and their heavy tread as they rushed into the 
room. A moment later there were more distant voices, and 
the men came hurrying down again. 

“They got him outside, ma’am,” one of them said. “Sorry 
to make you all this trouble.” And the two passed out at the 
front door. Edith called: 

“Oh, wait! I want to y 

One of the men turned in the doorway. 

“TI want you to—I want you to tell me ifi—if———__ Oh, 
what is it?” 

“Some trouble in West Roxbury, ma’am. You can find 
out from headquarters.” 

As the man passed into the street she could hear Augus- 
tus’s voice through the open door. He was whining and 
crying that\he didn’t know anything about it—he was here at 
home all the evening reading a book—that was what he was 
doing—he never once left the house—ask his wife if they 
didn’t believe it—she was right there—just ask her; in the 
midst of which came a rough caution from one of the inspec- 
tors that he’d better keep his mouth shut—he could tell all 


250 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


that to the chief. A moment later came the clatter of a car 
driven up from somewhere, the slamming of its door, and 
the sound of its rapid departure up the street. 


A number of things were happening along here that I’m 
not going to try to describe to you. My supposition is that | 
I’m able to get away with plain facts so they’ll be understood, 
which is all I aim at. But when it comes to telling you about 
Edith Findlay through all this affair—her going over to the 
mansion as soon as she could get a neighbor to take care of 
little Mildred, and staying there with all that was left of poor 
Haworth as long as they’d let her; and later her being at 
the funeral; and after that sitting stunned and dry-eyed in 
her little parlor at home while she slowly came to the realiza- 
tion of what it meant—that the one person who was all there 
was in the world for her had gone forever, and that somehow 
it was through her that the terrible thing had come about— 
I’m out of it altogether. I can only briefly refer to it as 
Ive just been doing. 

Yet with all these fearful things coming down on her, the 
poor child—frail and delicate and already in the grip of the 
demon of disease—had it in her to stand up to it, quiet and 
brave. I made a mistake, though, when I said all these fear- 
ful things coming down on her, for she knew only one. 
Others had no place in her mind. They didn’t even occur 
to her. 

And with old Mrs. Temple it was much the same, though 
in a different way. Back of all the police investigations, and 
questionings of witnesses, and photographing, and ransacking 
the mansion and grounds surrounding it, and the sensational 
newspaper write-ups, and arrests, and talk, and confusion, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 251 


was this cruel blow for each of them—the loss of the one 
who was dear to them. 


Mr. Pentecost left the train at Back Bay Station on arrival 
in Boston, thus saving about five minutes. And he saved 
some three minutes more by not having to explain to the 
taxi man where Torrington Road could be found, the morn- 
ing and early afternoon papers having thoroughly attended 
to that. 

It was a few minutes after four o’clock (Advanced time) 
when his machine came tearing up the drive—that is, tearing 
up the lower part of it, for it was stopped by a patrolman 
some distance from the house. Two policemen and a plain- 
clothes man were on watch there. Pentecost hurriedly ex- 
plained who he was, and that his firm had paid a large 
amount of money the day before for one of the murdered 
man’s inventions—which was still in the house, he supposed. 
They'd left it crated in the front hall. 

The detective made no reply to that, but instead informed 
Mr. Pentecost that the Chief would like to see him at head- 
quarters. 

“Yes, but wait a minute!” remonstrated Pentecost. “TI 
want to find out if that machine i 

“You can talk it over with the Inspector when you get 
there.” 

“Talk it over! But my God, man—it’s our property!’ 

“The Inspector’ll attend to that. You don’t need to 
worry.” 

“Was there a truck out here after it?” 

“There sure was, but the truck didn’t get it. How do we 
know but it might have something to do with the case?” 


252 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Have you got the idea that anybody’s going to shoot up 
a man for a three-ton machine he couldn’t get out of the 
house ?” 

“Ask the Inspector that.” 

Pentecost was allowed to go in and satisfy himself that his 
property was still in the house and had not been tampered 
with. After a moment of breathing easier (not overdone you 
know) upon finding that this was the case, he apparently 
began to call to mind that a terrible crime had been com- 
mitted and finally asked if he could see the poor chap who’d 
been shot. But the body’d been taken to the morgue some 
hours before. 

Half an hour later the detective and Mr. Pentecost ar- 
rived at Pemberton Square and the Inspector didn’t keep 
them waiting long. Besides the latter there were two plain- 
clothes men in the room—one at a table ready to make notes, 
the other standing back near the window. ‘The Inspector, 
seated at his desk, greeted Pentecost pleasantly ; and after an 
informal question or two regarding his business and the 
methods of running it, came down to the matter in hand. 

“Understand your firm’s been having some dealings with 
the man they shot out in Roxbury—or rather Jamaica Plain 
—last night.” 

“Why yes, we just bought an invention of his—that is, 
rights to exploit and so forth—and paid the money down for 
it. It was only yesterday, and the machine’s still out there in 
the house. One of your men in charge advised me to speak 
to you about it, and I certainly hope you’ll be so good as to 


a) 


arrange it so we can 
“All in good time Mr. Pentecost. First I’d like to have 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 253 


you tell me what you know about the affair or the people 
concerned in it.” 

“Yes, certainly, certainly—er Pentecost appeared 
to be slightly flurried by having the subject shifted so sud- 
denly away from what was apparently uppermost in his 
mind. (It might be just as well to remember I said “ap- 
peared to be’’ and “apparently.’’) 

“Your firm specializes in novelties of a mechanical nature, 
you say—organizes companies and that sort of thing?” 

“Yes—yes, we—that’s our business.” 

“What are some of the inventions you’ve handled ?” 

“Well, there’s quite a number. The latest thing we took 
over was the Crudex Oil Burning Device. We're also be- 
hind the Polaris Refrigerating Machine, the Acme Vacuum 
Cleaner and other successful things. Of course we hit on a 
loser now and then, but our average stands up well.”’ (Pen- 
tecost had naturally given out the straight deals that the firm 
had undertaken—sometimes at considerable expense—for 
precisely this sort of emergency.) 

“That being your business, I take it you were attracted to 
Haworth’s inventions.” 

“Yes—I was.—That is, to one of them.” 

“How did you happen to hear of them?” 

“From reading a Sunday supplement write-up when I 
was over here a couple of weeks ago—or thereabout.” And 
_ Pentecost went on to give an account of how he went out 
there to see what sort of mechanical novelties the inventor 
had, and to describe his visit to the ancient mansion— 
the young man alone there with an old charwoman—the 
finding of a device that greatly interested him—the bringing 
of his partner over from New York to see it—and their ulti- 


254 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


mate purchase of the rights in the machine and the payment 
of quite a large sum of money down. 

“Did you see much of the old woman you speak of —the 
one who came in to cook for him and so on?” 

“Not a great deal, but I had to admire her.” 

“Why? What did you admire?” 

“The game way she kept at it trying to protect Mr. Ha- 
worth from us,—for she got the idea we were trying to rob 
him or something like that. She bothered us some listening 
around, but it was no great matter, so I let it go.—Though 
now I think of it I did drive her away once.” 

‘“‘What was the reason for that?” 

“The machine we were negotiating for depended on a se- 
cret process, as you might say. That is, he managed his 
combustion to compress air direct without the use of inter- 
vening machinery. Something they’d hardly allow a patent 
on. That’s why I’m so nervous about it. I hope nobody 
takes it out of that crate.” 

“Was the old woman trying to see it ?” 

“Trying to see anything she could. We'd find her every- 
where. I don’t suppose she’d have understood the thing 
even if she’d got a good look at it, but I always like to play 
safe when there’s no patent. So we finally asked Haworth 
to keep her out of the house till we got the machine away.” 

After questioning Pentecost on other points, the business 
transaction between Haworth and the firm was taken up,—the 
fourteen-day option, the payment of the thirty-five thousand 
dollars, the arrangement made with him for coming on to 
New York and setting up and adjusting the machine, and 
his agreement to work under their direction for five years. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 255 


“It was a cash transaction I understand—this payment 
of thirty-five thousand ?” 

“Yes—he insisted on having it that way.” 

“Do you know his reasons for that?” 

“No.” 

“You actually paid him that amount—in bills?” 

“Yes. That is to say, he received it from the firm. Alfred 
Harker, our secretary, was the one who handed it to him.” 

“But you saw—yourself—that that amount was paid over 
to him?” 

“Yes, I did. I watched Harker counting it out for him.” 

“Into his hands?” 

“Well, no, it was rather too bulky for that. He counted it 
- out on the table.” 

“And Haworth took it ?” 

POSES 

“What did he do with it—put it in his pocket?” 

“T’m not sure, but I should say not. It was rather too 
large for an ordinary pocket.” 

“Mr. Pentecost, where, exactly, was that bunch of bills 
when you last saw it?” 

“My recollection isn’t clear enough to admit of a positive 
statement. I have the impression that Haworth held it in 
his hands a short time and then put it down on the table and 
stood there with one hand resting on it.” 

“What happened then?” 

“Soon after the money was paid we left the house.” 

“Did he bring it to the door with him when he went to see 
you out?” 

“He didn’t come to the door—we left him standing at the 
table.” 


256 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“He said good night to you there ?”’ 

“Yes. And it was then that he was standing—as I remem- 
ber it—with one hand resting on the stack of bills.’ 

“You referred to an agreement you made with him for 
working under your direction. Was he entirely willing to 
agree to this or did you have to urge it to some extent?” 

“We had some discussion, but he finally saw it was to his 
advantage, and signed the contract willingly.” 

“Have you that contract with you?” 

_ “My partner took charge of it. I can wire him and he'll 
get it in the mail to-night.” 

“Kindly do that.” 

The next inquiries were as to the machine the firm had 
bought, and Pentecost described it as well as he could and 
offered to have the blueprints sent over from New York— 
an offer which was accepted. He was unable, when asked, 
to give any information concerning Augustus Findlay as he’d 
never seen him nor even heard his name mentioned, nor 
could he tell the Inspector anything about the butler, Dreek, 
as he’d only seen him once or twice in the performance of 
his duties and once when he was called in to sign as a wit- 
ness... . Yes, he should say it was quite possible this but- 
ler, Dreek, had seen the bunch of money. .. . No, he had 
no idea how it happened that Mr. Haworth had sent to a 
New York agency for a butler. 

Shortly after that he was excused, the Inspector intimating 
that he’d like to have another chat with him in the near fu- 
ture. 

Pentecost said of course—anything he could do, and 
added that if the Inspector wanted to see Mr. Harker and 
his son Alfred—the two who were with him at the Haworth 


\ 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 257 


place—he could get them over that night; but he was told 
that such a thing was hardly necessary, as their testimony 
could be taken in New York if it came to that. 

“You got over here in quick time, Mr. Pentecost,” the In- 
spector was moved to say as the interview was coming to a 
close. “We have to thank you for that.” 

“It was my business that was worrying me—not yours,” 
Pentecost returned. “And now that you speak of it,” he 
went on, beginning to show eagerness again, “I was advised 
to consult you as to how I could get that machine out of the 
house. We've got a good-sized stack of money invested in 
it and I’d like to get it into a safe place.” 

“Tt’s perfectly safe where it is, Mr. Pentecost. We've 
got to hold it till we can see what bearing—if any—it has on 
the case. Good afternoon.” 

A plain-clothes man opened the door for him and Mr. Pen- 
tecost passed out. When the man turned back into the 
room the Inspector spoke quickly in an undertone: “Run 
out after him, Charlie, and keep him in sight till I get some- 
one on the job. Keep your distance—don’t let him get wise 
to it.” 

The detective addressed as Charlie disappeared through 
the door. 


The Inspector sat thinking a moment and then got to his 
feet and began pacing the room—a habit of his when hunt- 
ing for the answer to something. He suddenly stopped and 
spoke to the plain-clothes man at the table who'd been taking 
down the conversation with Pentecost. 

“What did you think of that, Alec?’ 

“Sounded nice an’ slick to me.” 


258 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Ever see him before?” 

“Not as I remember.” 

“Got an idea I have. Can’t place it. Going to put Loderer 
and Trench on him.” 

“Cinch on Findlay, ain’t it?” 

“What you might call that, but there’s one or two curious 
things about it—money gone—thirty-five thousand in bills— 
we can’t get that on Findlay.” 

“Nor on this man, either, that I can see. You can’t crack 
an alibi like that, with the Purser an’ all talking to ’im on 
the voyage. And on top of it he comes ashore from the 
steamer in New York this morning.” » 

The inspector muttered, “Yes, I know,” absently, and was 
silent a moment, thinking. Finally he said with a slightly 
explosive effect: 

“God! I hope Bellinger gets the man that phoned in here 
Jast night!” 

“You mean about this Pentecost not being on board?” 

“‘Yes—and advising us to have the boat watched in New 
York.” 

“Nothing on it yet?” 

“Nothing to the good. We got the booth he phoned from 
and we picked up a man who saw a chap go into that booth 
about that time, but he couldn’t give a description except 
that he looked like a day laborer of some kind—so we don’t 
Jand anywhere.” 

“What booth was it?” 

“Nineteen South Station.” 


PART VII 


OU can readily understand that the daily papers, both 

morning and evening, were going strong on this mur- 

der, giving the public all the sensational stuff they could 

rake out of the gory mess. Even wild rumor was sufficiently 

tamed to occupy a place of honor on first pages, no least item 

of the appalling affair being too inconsequent to be written 
up until it fairly bristled with significance. 

Even at that, very little attention was given to a press dis- 
patch from Montreal which appeared in the Boston papers on 
the second morning after the shooting. Only a fewlines it 
amounted to, and tacked on at the end of one of the columns 
devoted to the murder. 

This dispatch stated as rather a striking coincidence, that 
one of the Montreal papers of the day before—that is, of the 
morning following the West Roxbury shooting—had printed 
in a local news column a short paragraph to the effect that at 
a spirit séance in a private house on Sackville Street the night 
before—which was the evening of the murder, a call had 
come from the spirit of some one (a man it seemed to be) 
whose name, owing to his extreme agitation, couldn’t be ob- 
- tained, but who was so insistent on speaking that the control 
brought him in. 

The medium, who was in trance, suddenly taken by this 
spirit, began crying out: “Stop them! Stop them! Can't 
somebody stop them? Oh, it’s terrible—terrible! They’re 

259 


260 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


going right on—there’s no help for it! Oh—can’t somebody 
telegraph?” 
Then there was a pause, and some of the sitters began 
asking this spirit what the trouble was, and where he wanted 
them to telegraph, and what his name was, and things like 
that. But there was no answer, and for several minutes 
nothing more came through. Then suddenly there was 
something like a shout for help repeated several times and 
followed by wild exclamations about killing some one. 
“Down in the States—down in the States! Roxbury—down 
in the States! They’re killing a man in Roxbury—killing a 
man. No one can stop it now! There’s a gun aimed at him 
Oh, 
They’ve shot him! . . . Now they’ve shot him again! ... 


—don’t you understand—aiming a gun—aiming a 


He’s sinking—sinking down—down. .. Now he’s on the 
floor—all in a heap! ... Now he’s dead! ... Dead! 
t emjeread oi. 1). he words) seemed to’ trail) On inate 


distance toward the end, and nothing more was heard from 
the perturbed visitor. 

The Montreal paper carrying the account of this went on 
to say that its information was obtained from a well-known 
person who had attended the sitting. And one of the Bos- 
ton papers, commenting on it briefly, as one of those odd co- 
incidences which come along and surprise us every now and 
then, added: “This will be less astounding, however, when 
we reflect that a medium in Canada or anywhere else can 
confidently assert, at any hour of the day or night, that a 
murder is being committed in one of the large cities of the 
United States, and not be far out of the way in time or 
place.” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 261 


The evidence tending to establish the guilt of Augustus 
Findlay in the case of the shooting to death of Charles Mi- 
chael Haworth was so overwhelming from the point of view 
of newspaper readers, that it threatened to make the case 
uninteresting—a threat, however, which was soon swept into 
the discard. For a few days, though, it looked unpromising 
in the extreme to those who revel in newspaper sewerage. 
The facts were so plain and Findlay’s guilt so evident that 
no room was left for enthralling suspicions as to others— 
for gossip and scandal, for the laying bare of nauseous de- 
tails concerning the habits and lives of loathsome people, and 
all those choice morsels of offal that newspaper addicts go 
after so ravenously. 

It was simply that this Findlay man, the murderer, had 
always been threatening to put a bullet into the Haworth 
man, the murdered, and had finally done so, being worked 
up to a sufficient frenzy in his half-drunken condition, by 
finding the said Haworth calling upon his—Findlay’s—wife. 
He had thereupon followed him home, flourishing a revolver 
in his face most of the way and shouting the most murder- 
ous threats and maledictions, and finally had shot him from 
outside the Cripps mansion on Torrington Road (where Ha- 
worth lived) getting it there through one of the front win- 
dows. Then he had run home and tried to make his wife 
uphold him in his statement that he hadn’t left the house all 

the evening. \ lf that wasn’t enough to land him in the chair, 
what was? 

To the authorities, however, it wasn’t quite so easy navi- 
gation. No one had seen Findlay do the deed; no revolver 
had been found; no bullet marks in the room had yet been 
discovered. It was true that everything pointed to him as 


262 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


the murderer, but pointing wasn’t enough. It answers very 
nicely for the general public, but doesn’t go with a Grand 
Jury. ) 

And there was that obstinate old woman who undoubt- 
edly had intimate knowledge of the entire episode from A 
to Z—knowing the persons involved, the motives behind the 
murderous deed, and every circumstance leading up to it; 
—for hadn’t she run out and warned a patrolman in Jamaica 
Plain nearly a week before the event? Fully aware of this 
and more, yet keeping her mouth as securely closed as if 
officially padlocked. More important still if it was a fact— 
and a word or two she’d dropped just after the shooting 
made it look that way—she’d been an eyewitness of the mur- 
der. Yet so far nothing could be got out of her on the 
subject. 

But no mistake was made about Amelia Temple. It was 
seen from the first that the only chance was in giving it to 
her easy and waiting patiently for results. No pressure. On 
a sign of that she’d have cheerfully gone to prison for life 
or permitted herself to be hung by the neck until dead, before 
she’d have let out a word. So they kept careful watch on 
her without interfering in any way with her freedom or 
giving her the least idea they were doing it. 

And the Inspector and she enjoyed a couple of pleasant 
conversations during this time, in which, “as a matter of 
form” he gave her the opportunity to enlighten them as to 
one or two little things, but said himself she was perfectly 
justified in declining to do so if she still felt that she must— 
indeed, he wasn’t sure but he’d do the same in her place. 
And the patrolman who'd failed to respond to her request 
for help had (under instructions, of course) made her-a most 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 263 


abject apology, to which her only response was, ‘“That does 
a lot o’ good now, don’t it ?”’ | 


While proceedings in this quarter were at a standstill (for 
they wanted to give the old woman time), those in other and 
unexpected directions were not. Some rather unusual phe- 
nomena relating to the case were beginning to attract at- 
tention. Although the first of these—the communication 
that came through a Montreal medium—had hardly caused 
a ripple, a manifestation on similar lines now broke out in 
Boston itself, and people began to sit up and take notice. 

The séance in which this occurred was taking place in a 
small hall or conference room, where a committee appointed 
by some sort of psychical research society was investigating 
the spirit manifestations claimed to be produced by a cer- 
tain medium. It was a lady in this case—using the term 
merely as indicative of sex (though for all I know it could 
be applied in a broader sense as well)—and she was trying 
to cope with the various tests to which this committee was 
subjecting her at a series of meetings held for that purpose, 
hoping to win a prize that had been offered; but sure, in any 
event, of valuable publicity. 

As you see, I am fairly well uninformed as to the interior 
workings of this particular brand of religious endeavor—if 
it may be referred to as such. Nevertheless, I am fully 
aware of the phenomena that touched on the Haworth case, 
and can report them to you with a close approach to accu- 
racy, leaving you to draw your own conclusions as to their 
origin. 

It was certainly a great surprise to everyone interested in 
the affair—with the possible exception of the firm of Har- 


264 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


ker & Pentecost, neither member of which was ever sur- 
prised at anything—that an attempt at interference should 
come from such a quarter. For a time it was treated as an 
absurdity not worth serious attention. But that was only for 
a time. 

It seems that mediums, being forbidden, in these enlight- 
ened days, to give public séances for which admission fees 
are charged, are obliged to employ other methods of at- 
tracting and doing business. The most common is to appear 
before the congregations in the great Spiritist temples—or 
whatever name they may go by—where meetings are held 
at stated intervals in all the large cities and many of the 
smaller ones. At these gatherings a limited number of “in- 
spirational speakers” and “test mediums” are allowed a cer- 
tain time each in which to bring the spirits of the departed 
into communication with friends or relatives present, and 
sometimes with people who cannot be found in the assembly. 

The more striking and convincing the feats these inspira- 
tional individuals perform, the greater will be their renown 
and ultimate pecuniary reward. For upon the impression 
made at these meetings (where no admission fee is charged) 
largely depends the amount and the value of the private 
business they can do thereafter. It has been known that 
one extraordinary “demonstration” in the way of spirit 
communication or materialization, has come near to making 
the fortune of the artist (using the term with entire respect) 
who brought it about. The field is of vast extent. The 
highest aim is the convincing and consequent conversion of 
persons of wealth who are undergoing the pangs of recent 
bereavement; for the successful medium deals in that for 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 265 


which almost anything will be paid—if the believing client 
has the price. 

While these appearances at the great Spiritist assemblies 
are the most used of the publicity methods for commercial 
mediums, a greatly superior one has recently been developed 
for the few who are fortunate enough to be able to asso- 
ciate themselves with it. It is one of the innumerable out- 
comes—all more or less revolting—of what a few nations 
egotistically refer to as “the World War.” 

Owing to this absurd and ghastly occurrence, hundreds of 
thousands—perhaps millions—of families were suddenly 
plunged into the most heartrending grief known ‘to man. 
Those who were beyond words dear to them had been 
snatched away and violently put to death, and the ones so 
taken were in the very part of life where death seems most 
impossible, most unbelievable, and consequently most terrible. 

Resulting from this, the interest in that creed which as- 
sures people that their lost ones are yet here with them in 
spirit form, trying to speak to them and often succeeding 
(through the mediumship of others), even on occasion ap- 
pearing before them in person (again through the interpo- 
sition of others), was suddenly and tremendously increased. 
One result was an enormous enlargement in the number of 
believers, among which were included some with a high 
order of mental equipment—something in which this “faith” 
had been painfully deficient before. A result of the un- 
precedented interest which this accession to the ranks of 
Spiritists inspired, was a stimulation of the efforts made 
by the less credulous to learn whether or not there existed 
grounds for confidence in the amazing claims set forth. So- 
cieties and associations and investigating committees were 


266 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


organized for this purpose in various parts of the country, 
rewards were offered and the claims and accomplishments 
of various mediums were subjected to investigation. As a 
by-product of these activities, and one, it must be admitted, 
wholly unlooked for by those undertaking this enthusiastic 
search for truth, the most effective machinery yet devised 
for the manufacture of publicity for mediums was put in 
operation. 

The prize of a few thousand dollars offered by the or- 
ganizations behind the investigating committees, was as 
nothing to the enormously increased business for the medium 
which was sure to follow the newspaper accounts of the 
proceedings, no matter which way they went or what de- 
cision was arrived at. Free newspaper publicity, and in 
the news columns—that was the real prize. 


It happened that an investigation of this kind was going 
on in Boston at the time of the tragic occurrence on Tor- 
rington Road. The medium who was undergoing tests was 
a Mrs. Belden—Henrietta E, Belden was the entire name I 
believe—and she had heretofore revealed her unusual gifts 
only in private—that is to say, in her own home out in 
Quincy. But accounts of the extraordinary things that took 
place when she went into trance, came to the notice of mem- 
bers of a research society, and after a bit of wirepulling 
that was kept in the dark (as it certainly should have been) 
the lady was invited to submit to a series of test sittings, and, 
I need hardly say, accepted. 

The first test séance had already been held and with some 
success—enough to get half-column reports of it on inside 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 267 


pages of most of the next day’s papers. But this was only a 
beginning. 

On the evening of the day after the murder in Torrington 
Road, the second sitting was scheduled to take place—which 
it did. Most of the newspaper reports of this meeting spoke 
of it as being unsatisfactory in the extreme, though one or 
two contended that it would be only fair to the medium to 
suspend judgment until the next one, as there appeared to 
be some unexplained obstacle in her way, and she should be 
given a chance to overcome it. 

It seems that after Mrs. Belden had gone into trance, in- 
stead of being, as on the first occasion, immediately controlled 
by energetic spirits who spoke volubly (through her) and 
caused sounds of knockings and chilly draughts and inex- 
plicable moving of furniture, she was suddenly plunged 
by some mysterious influence, into the most overpowering 
grief, begging piteously that some one would help her. On 
questioning by members of the committee, it developed that 
they were speaking to the spirit of a woman named Cynthia. 
That is to say, the medium herself had disappeared into 
trance, and the spirit of this Cynthia woman was speaking 
_ through Mrs. Belden’s terrestrial machinery. 

_“Cynthia—I’m Cynthia!” the medium kept calling out in 
a voice entirely different from her own, and with tears run- 
ning down her cheeks. ‘“‘Yes—Cynthia! Oh, won’t some- 
body help me! Though you don’t know me, for God’s sake 
help me! iIsn’t there somebody here who can do some- 
thing?” And the medium sobbed and moaned and rocked 
back and forth, and her very face was changed. All the 
questions that were put to her by the members of the com- 
mittee seemed to get them no further. The Cynthia spirit 


268 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


was apparently crazed with grief or anxiety, and held her 
place for nearly an hour, begging for help, yet leaving those 
present without information as to what the trouble was, fur- 
ther than the little that could be gathered from her incoherent 
cries of: ‘Oh—they’ve made a terrible mistake! Don’t 
you see—a terrible, frightful mistake!” 

“Mistake about what, madam?” would come in a sharp 
incisive voice from an investigator. 

“About him—about him. He’s my son—my son—my son! 
Don’t you understand ?—and he’s in such trouble—oh, such 
trouble! It’s all wrong—all wrong! Can’t somebody go 
and tell them it’s all a mistake! Oh, please somebody tell 
them!” And thus it went on, the grief-stricken spirit of 
Cynthia hysterically begging for assistance and imploring 
them to tell somebody that something wasn’t so, yet seem- 
ingly unable to furnish information as to what persons she 
wished to have told, or to let them know who she was herself. 
And although, after some little time of this, the members of 
the committee urgently requested Cynthia’s spirit to leave 
the medium so that the spirits of others who were better able 
to communicate might take her place, she couldn’t be per- 
suaded to do so. 

Even Mrs. Belden’s assistant or director—or whatever it 
is those people are called—joined in the efforts to persuade 
Cynthia to release the medium, calling out several times 
to the usual spirit control: ‘Doctor Coulter, can’t you relieve 
this situation? Tell us what this Cynthia woman wants or 
take her away.” 

But nothing availed and the investigation was finally ad- 
journed until the evening after the next. 

When Mrs. Belden came out of the trance and began to 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 269 


take notice of things, she discovered, from the behavior of 
those members of the committee who had waited, that all 
was not well. Her director whispered a few hurried words 
to her, and she could be heard exclaiming, “Cynthia? Why 
-—-why, what does it mean? I don’t know anybody named 
Cynthia—I never heard of such a person!” She appeared 
greatly disturbed, evidently fearing her chances of winning 
the prize which had been offered for a successful test were 
gone, or at least greatly reduced in size. 

The condition in which she was left after being under the 
control of this sorrowful spirit for more than an hour, was 
surely bad enough without the added anxiety as to the failure 
of the test. One or two of the gentlemen shook hands with 
her and said she mustn’t take it so much to heart, as the 
next meeting would undoubtedly be a fine one and more 
than make up for any shortcomings in this. But it was evi- 
dent that Mrs. Belden was disappointed and chagrined. 


The next sitting was approached with feelings bordering 
on trepidation of one sort or another by nearly everyone con- 
cerned. And when Mrs. Belden had finally succeeded— 
with more difficulty than usual—in getting herself into 
trance condition, and almost immediately thereafter the tear- 
ful voice of Cynthia was heard, the depression among the 
investigators became acute. 

But there was a surprise awaiting them, for not only was 
this spirit calmer and more reasonable than she had been 
two nights before, but she spoke in a way that aroused a 
sudden and peculiar interest. 

The Haworth case—barely three days old and still on the 
front pages—was the subject of conversation everywhere. 


270 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


So that when the members of the committee became aware 
—as they did from the first few words spoken—that it was 
the spirit of Cynthia Findlay addressing them,—the mother 
of the man arrested for the Haworth murder, and as to 
whose guilt there wasn’t a remnant of doubt in the public 
mind—the deepest interest was aroused. Her voice was still 
sad and occasionally tremulous with emotion, but there was 
no more sobbing and hysteria. She begged most piteously 
that somebody there would tell the Judge or the Jury or the 
police or some one, that her son was innocent. It was all a 
dreadful mistake. He Oh no! Oh, believe her, no!— 
he wasn’t the one who did it! All the things that looked so 
terribly incriminating could be accounted for some other 
way. Every one of them could be explained!—Every one! 
—Every one! 

She went on like that for quite a time, becoming more and 
more affected until she could hardly speak. But on this 
occasion her repetitions—even her paroxysms of emotion 
—were no longer wearisome to those present. 

As soon as it became necessary for her to pause for breath 
—for while it’s more than unlikely that a spirit needs any, 
the same could hardly be said of a medium—a flood of in- 
cisive questioning poured in, which ran something like this: 

ProFessor ExLsertson (a psychologist): “Mrs. Findlay, 
if you know your son did not commit the crime he’s charged 
with, you must also know who did.” 

Mr. BuatcuHrorp (an attorney): “Certainly. Your 
knowledge implies that you are in a position where you 
have an insight of the case. This insight should enable you 
to give us the name of the guilty one.” 

Tue Spirit: “Oh, don’t ask me! I can’t—I can’t!’ 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD hy 


Doctor WriNGaATE (a physician): “Who prevents you? 
Who stops you when so much depends on it? Let us know 
who this person—this spirit—is.” 

Tue Spirit: “There’s no ‘who.’ Nothing can be said— 
no words—no—no—no words!” 

Mr. Hatstep (a prestidigitator): “Do you mean, Mrs. 
Findlay, that there is no person or being or entity of any 
description who forbids you or stands in the way of your 
telling us this?” 

THe Spirit: “No such thing as that! I am held by an 
influence from all that is, of which I myself am an in- 
finitesimal part.” 

Mr. Biatcurorp: ‘Then why does not this prohibitive 
influence prevent you from informing us as to your son? 
You experience no difficulty in declaring his innocence. Is 
it a law that operates either way according to its fancy ?” 

Tue Spirit: “My own influence, though infinitesimal as 
a rule, becomes of more consequence than all others when 
it concerns my son, and the balance is turned. For him 
I can speak across to you and beg you to save him.” 

Mr. BratcHuForp: “Then surely for him you can reveal 
the facts that will accomplish that result.” 

Tue Spirit: “Perhaps I can—oh, perhaps—perhaps! 
But it can’t be now! If it can be—I’ll come again!’’ The 
voice trailed away in a despairing moan and the spirit of 
Cynthia was gone. 

Mrs. Belden came out of the trance rather suddenly, rub- 
bing her eyes and glancing questioningly at her director and 
the members of the committee. As before, she seemed 
greatly exhausted by the use to which the spirit of Cynthia 
had put her, and found herself in a cold perspiration. 


272 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


While no real test had yet been furnished by Mrs. Belden, 
a majority of the committee had a feeling that the next visit 
of the spirit of Cynthia would supply one, while a pessi- 
mistic minority openly stated that there wouldn’t be any 
next visit,—that the questioning they had given her would 
keep her occupied in other spheres, and that it was an ex- 
ceedingly good way to be rid of her. 

Mediumistic episodes such as this wouldn’t get a thing 
from the papers under ordinary circumstances.’ But these 
investigations the psychical research people put over, excited 
enough public interest to be taken up by the Associated 
Press and run all over the country. And this alleged appear- 
ance of the grief-stricken spirit of the mother of Augustus 
Findlay, the man who was under arrest for the murder of 
Charles Haworth, was featured*in all the morning editions 
from Maine to California and Montreal to New Orleans. 


On the day following the publication of these reports, quite 
a pack of editors got after it as a specimen of the gullibility 
of the human race in general and the people who took part 
in such “goings-on” in particular. You can see how the 
free advertising piles up for them in cases like this. Even 
the high and mighty editors push it along! 

Of course there was nothing in it for the police—not 
even enough to laugh at—and no attention was paid to the 
matter. It wasn’t even recognized as having occurred. 

Mr. Forbes, the Defense Attorney, read the accounts of 
the séance with a grimace. While entirely willing to catch 
at a straw in this case, he failed to see anything in the alleged 
appearance of the spirit of his client’s mother that could be 
dignified by such an appellation. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 273 


But in the evening of the day following there happened © 
something that every one of these persons did pay attention 
to, not to speak of millions of newspaper readers besides. 

It seems that a well-known medium named Dillingworth 
was having his chance at one of the meetings of a Spiritist 
convention that was in progress at Lilly Dale, a village not 
far from Chautauqua, in the westernmost county of New 
York State, where gatherings of this nature occur at intervals 
(no admission charged). Mr. Dillingworth was calling out 
names and descriptions of spirit forms that appeared to 
him, and asking if anyone in the audience recognized them 
as departed relatives or friends. Some one, of course, nearly 
always did, and thereupon would follow affectionate mes- 
sages and disjointed conversations between the living and 
the dead, carried on from the dead side through the me- 
diumship of Mr. Dillingworth. 

This sort of thing went on for something like half the 
medium’s allotted time, when suddenly he seemed to be 
strangely affected, and unable for a moment to proceed. He 
soon recovered, however, and half apologizing, told the as- 
sembly that some one had come who had a peculiar sort of 
influence—an oldish man, it was, who kept saying that he 
didn’t know anyone there but couldn’t get control in other 
places, and very much wanted a message sent to some one. 

“Yes, a—a—damnably important message,’ went on the 
medium abstractedly, as though trying to listen to something 
in the distance. “But I can’t seem to get his name... .. 
Oh—says he doesn’t care to give it. . . . But we can hardly 
send a message unless we know who it’s from!” (Trying to 
hear.) “How do you spell it? C—r—i—p—p—Crippen? 
. . . Oh, Cripps. His name is Cripps—quite an old gentle- 


274 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


man—rather portly—medium  height—gray-blue eyes— 
smooth face—grizzled gray hair—bushy dark eyebrows. 
Anyone here know such a person? Wait a minute! . 
Yes yes, Mr. Cripps, I know you told me no one knew you, 
but I’m so used to asking the question What? oan 
He’s using the most frightful language! . . .. All right—all 
right—there’s no need of getting huffy about it! Give us the 
message. . . . He says it’s to the police somewhere—I can’t 
get the place. Yes, go on, Mr. Cripps . . . R-o-x-b-u-r— 
Oh, Roxbury! ... Man shot there, he says—murdered. 
. . . Boston police? Why not the police where the man was 
shot? . . . Oh I see—a part of Boston. I didn’t know that. 
.... Yes, I guess you’re right, Mr. Cripps! . . . He says 
my geography isn’t worth a God-forsaken damn! . . . Very 
well, the Boston police. Now what’s the message?. . 
Let me get that straight! We’re to send word that both 
times—is that right ?—both times their detectives examined 
the inside of the rain-water conductor on the south side of 
the front portico they didn’t reach high enough up. Is that 
all, Mr. Cripps? . . . But you haven’t mentioned what it is 
they’re reaching for. ... What? ... Oh, T see! . .. He 
says they'll know damned well—and don’t you forget it! 
. .. All right, Mr. Cripps. That’s pretty strong language, 
but we'll try not to forget it..... What’s that? Yes, 
we'll tell them. . . . He says they’d better be careful how 
they handle it if the finger marks on the butt are any use 
to them. . . . But can’t you tell us, Mr. Cripps, whether the 
—What?... Who’s this speaking? . . . Oh, some one 
else! Just a minute.” Then, glancing toward the audience 
and in a lower voice: “Will somebody remember that mes- 
sage? I don’t know what it’s all about, but if it’s going to 


a oe 


X 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 275 


help the Boston police any, God knows they ought to 
have it!” 

A roar of laughter, together with some vigorous hissing, 
followed this last remark, which could hardly excite sur- 
prise when one reflected on the derision and contempt which 
had been aroused by the peculiar behavior of the organization 
referred to not a great while before. 

Though the medium, Mr. Dillingworth, didn’t know what 
it was all about, the bunch of reporters sitting at a table 
down in front of him, did. In forty-five minutes the Asso- 
ciated Press had the whole thing, and before midnight news- 
paper men were dashing madly out to Jamaica Plain, having 
obtained permission to look over the ground. 

The outcome of all this was that along about 1:30 in the 
morning half a dozen chaps from the papers were gathered 
round the rain-water conductor on the front of the Cripps 
mansion, pushing wires and small rods up from the lower 
end. But nothing was found—which wasn’t so very sur- 
prising when you take into consideration that headquarters 
had received a rush dispatch fully an hour before the papers 
got it, giving the spirit message from old Mr. Cripps in full. 
No one in the Department had any confidence in it—unadul- 
terated rot, all these spirit stunts. Still, when it was wired 
over on a “rush” from Lilly Dale and signed “H. Thompson, 
Sergeant State Police,’ what was the good of taking 
chances? So the Inspector hustled a couple of plain-clothes 
men out to the mansion with orders to take another look 
up the water pipe. | 

It was ten minutes after the detectives arrived at the man- 
sion that they pulled Augustus Findlay’s revolver down out 
of the large zinc water conductor up which it had been shoved 


276 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


to a height of several feet, and wedged in with a branch 
from a shrub to hold it there. They got a grip on it with 
hooks and wires so that nobody’s hands came in contact with 
it. Two chambers of the gun were empty. 

As the Boston papers had no knowledge of this, the dis- 
patch from Lilly Dale was used inconspicuously in most of 
them, followed by the brief statement that reporters had 
been out and searched, but that nothing was found in the 
locality mentioned. Papers elsewhere gave it more promi- 
nence, as it_was too late to hit them with the news that the 
search made by the reporters had been in vain. 


This new evidence—Findlay’s revolver found hidden near 
the place where the crime was committed, with two of the 
chambers empty and his fingerprints showing up nicely on 
the handle—was of the utmost value, though they’d most. 
likely have got an indictment without it. But while it made 
the action of the Grand Jury a certainty, and would be 
damning evidence when it came to trial, it must be confessed 
that the views of the Chief Inspector and of the Assistant 
District Attorney who was to prosecute, were a trifle unset- 
tled by the source of the information which had led to its dis- 
covery. It was certainly not an agreeable position to be 
placed in, and every effort must be made to keep the matter 
quiet. Luckily the presentation of the evidence before the 
Grand Jury would be behind closed doors, and by the time 
it had come up at the trial people would probably have for- 
gotten what it was all about. 

On the following day Assistant District Attorney McVeigh 
went before the Grand Jury and the indictment of Augustus 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 277 


Cripps Findlay for the murder of Charles Michael Haworth 
was handed down without delay. 


The date which had been set for Mrs. Henrietta E. Bel- 
den’s final séance before the researching committee, fell on 
the third day after the indictment of Findlay. Many persons 
not connected in any way with this committee made strenuous 
efforts to gain admission, but without success. Representa- 
tives of the press were present, but the public had been 
excluded from the beginning. 

So when, upon the assembling of the committee on that 
evening, it was discovered that a meek-looking person who 
was not a member, nor a reporter from any of the papers, 
was seated near the door, inquiries were at once made, and 
the whispered reply of the chairman was that the stranger 
was from the office of the Chief of Police. For what pur- 
pose he had been sent, he (the chairman) had not been in- 
formed. So far as he was aware, they hadn’t been violating 
any police regulations. 

As on the two preceding occasions, the spirit of Cynthia 
took immediate possession of the medium, but she appeared 
to be laboring under an excitement so intense that it was 
with difficulty she could articulate, and more than half an 
_ hour went by before anything came through that could be 
understood. | 

This incoherency and delay did not, however, have the 
discouraging effect which it had on a former occasion, for 
everyone there was intent to hear, held so by the feeling 
that she had something important to tell if only she could 
get it across. She would start on something—it seemed to 
be some number she was trying to give them—and then 


278 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


break off with: “I will—I will—I wit!” repeated again 
and again. 

The committee members were doing what they could to 
help her along, and when one of them asked, “Is some one 
preventing you from telling us?” the vehement answer came 
back: ‘“Yes—yes! Such forces against me!—I can hardly 
speak! Don’t go away—don’t go away!” And then all was 
confusion again, in the midst of which she tried repeatedly 
to tell the number. Finally, after many interruptions, she 
got it out—four hundred ninety-one, four hundred ninety- 
one, and went on repeating it, but still apparently unable to 
explain its present significance. But after a long struggle to 
overcome the obstacle, whatever it was, something seemed 
suddenly to release the spirit of Cynthia from what had the 
effect of a strangle hold, and she almost screamed out: “West 
side of the street! West! West! Four hundred ninety- 
one!” 

As soon as she stopped repeating this long enough for any- 
one to speak, every effort was made to get from her the 
name of the street she was talking about. She was asked 
what part of the town—what buildings were on it—the first 
letter of its name—everything the committee members could 
think of that might be a clue. 

The forces holding her back began to weaken from the 
time she managed to shriek out about the west side of the 
street, and the whole thing came through rather suddenly a 
few minutes later. 

“Don’t forget—don’t forget—four hundred ninety-one 
Collamore Street—four hundred ninety-one Collamore 
Street—west side—west side—man smoking a pipe—west 
side of Collamore Street—he saw them take it away from 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 279 


him. Oh, get him—somebody go and get him—he saw it 
all!” 

Even while this was being repeated (as it was a number 
of times) there was the beginning of a quiet and unob- 
trusive movement by some of the newspaper men toward 
the door. But they found the meek and inoffensive person 
from the office of the chief of police standing before it and 
pulling his coat back the merest trifle so that the edge of his 
badge could be seen. 

“Sorry but you'll have to wait a minute, gentlemen,” he 
said in an undertone, and before the reporters recovered 
from their astonishment he slipped through the door. The 
indignant journalists started to follow him, but they found 
a bulky patrolman just outside who declined to let them pass. 
The only reply to their furious questions was, “Orders.” 


It was a great surprise to James Rathbun, who lived with 
his family on the second floor of 491 Collamore Street, Rox- 
bury district, and was employed in a ladies’ boot and shoe 
factory near the railroad, to be roused from bed when he’d 
scarcely more than gone to it, and questioned by a couple 
of men who appeared to be ordinary citizens, but were ac- 
companied by the patrolman on that beat. 

No, he didn’t know anything at all about the murder over 
to Torrington Road, excepting what he’d seen in the papers. 
. . . Sure he’d read about it. . . . No, he didn’t know any- 
one concerned in it and hadn’t seen any of them so far as he 
was aware of. They must have got the wrong place, hadn’t 
they? .. . He couldn’t say as he remembered of anything 
special happening around there on the night of the murder. 
. .. No, he hadn’t noticed anyone taking anything away 


280 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


from anybody that night—unless they—unless Why 
hold on now! There was a kind of a fight down in the 
street, now he came to think of it, and he’d gone down and 
tried to stop it, but it was about as good as over when he 
got there. But now they were speaking about taking away 
something from somebody, maybe that was what they meant. 
. .. No, not money or a watch, it wasn’t, but the other 
feller’s gun. . . . No, he hadn’t any idea at all who they 
was. ... Sure, he’d go to the Inspector’s office if they 
wanted him to, but there wasn’t much of anything to it so 
far as he could see. 

The Inspector, it seems, was at the Charles Street jail, and 
Mr. Rathbun was taken there and questioned in one of the 
rooms. His testimony, as brought out, was straight and 
simple. He had come home rather late that night—about 
half-past ten or so he should say—and was smoking a pipe 
at his window facing the street. All of a sudden he heard a 
lot of scuffling and cursing outside, and looking out saw 
two men down there near one of the street lamps wrestling 
around and jabbing each other. There was something shin- 
ing that they both had hold of, and once when it got out into 

the light he could see one man was holding on to it by the 
nozzle and trying to get it away from the other. That one 
had gloves on. .... No, the other chap didn’t have none. 
He (Rathbun) yelled out to ’°em from the window, but they 
was at it like two dogs holding to a stick, so he went down- 
stairs to the street door and opened it, and just at that 
minute the man that had the gloves on give the other fellow 
a paste in the face that made him loosen his grip for a second 
so he could snatch the gun away from him and run up the 
_ street with it... . Yes, he was sure it was the one with 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 281 


the gloves on that got the gun. ... How did he know? 
Well, for one thing he went out and spoke to the other chap 
and he didn’t have none on. . . . No, there wasn’t any talk 


between them, for the chap didn’t say anything, but in a 
minute or so turned suddenly and beat it down the street 
toward the railroad tracks... .. Know him? Did the In- 
spector mean the one he went out and spoke to? Sure he’d 
know him if he ever saw him again! 

“Why, there he is now!” Rathbun exclaimed with gen- 
uine surprise, as he pointed at a man among about a dozen 
prisoners who were filing into the room. It was Augustus 
Findlay. The Inspector had given a signal a moment be- 
fore. 


The digging up of James Rathbun of 491 Collamore 
Street on a tip from the disembodied spirit of Cynthia Cripps 
Findlay shook things up a bit in the Police Department. Of 
course everyone connected with said Department was en- 
tirely aware that the spirit game was simply cheap poppy- 
cock and that the two rather surprising messages bearing 
on the Haworth case were merely instances of odd coinci- 
dence. Great God! There were eleven thousand mediums 
in the United States, and these giving out ten communica- | 
tions a day (a conservative estimate) made the output from 
the spirits forty million one hundred and fifty thousand 
messages a year; it would be a damned pity if one or two of 
them couldn’t strike it right once in a while! As for the 
alleged Cripps message from Lilly Dale, they had it pretty 
_ well covered up—at least for the present. The papers, to 
be sure, had printed it, but they had also mentioned the 
fact that nothing could be found in the place indicated. 


282 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


But holding back this Collamore Street message with its 
extraordinary results was another matter. It must be done 
though, if possible. The precaution of ordering the detention 
of everybody in the hall where the séance was held, in case 
some “spirit” got a message through that might cause trouble, 
was certainly well taken, and neither the reporters nor any 
others who’d been present during Mrs. Belden’s trance were 
permitted to leave the building until Mr. Rathbun had been 
returned to his dwelling place and, with his wife (who’d 
come to the window the night of the fight on hearing the 
shouting) Sworn to keep the matter entirely to themselves, 
and the fact strongly impressed upon them that it would be 
a highly dangerous thing for them, to let out a word of it. 

A search was quickly made for others in the tenements 
near who might have been witnesses to the revolver fight, 
but none were found. All this had transpired in not much 
above an hour, and the Rathbuns, as requested, locked their 
door and went to bed. 

Some twenty minutes thereafter No. 491 Collamore Street 
was seething with baffled newspaper men. They pounded on 
the door and rang the bell of the tenement on the second 
floor, until Mr. Rathbun, apparently roused from deep slum- 
ber, opened it to find out what all the racket was about. 

The reporters surged about him, calling out questions, de- 
manding statements, jotting down descriptions of him, and 
making such a riotous clamor, notwithstanding his assur- 
ances that he didn’t know anything about it, that he finally 
(to all appearances) lost his temper, and shoving those 
nearest to him back on to the landing, slammed the door in 
their faces and turned the key in the lock. 

By this time there was quite a gathering in the street below, 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 283 


and when the newspaper boys began to surge down the 
stairs with the idea of trying to get in through a rear en- 
trance, there was considerable excitement; for the crowd 
hadn’t the least idea what it was all about and looked for 
the capture of a desperate burglar or something equally 
diverting. In the midst of all this, word was suddenly 
passed from somewhere that some one had found a man 
up the street a ways, who'd seen the whole thing, and in 
ten seconds No. 491 was left as quiet as a church. 

The rumor of the man who knew it all turned out to be 
based on fact. A solid, reliable-looking chap he was, and 
the reporters had him penned. He seemed reluctant to say 
anything at first, but finally admitted that he was walking 
through Collamore Street that night and came right on it. 
Must have been half-past ten or eleven, he thought. Two 
men fighting for a revolver—that’s all it was. He backed 
into a doorway on the other side, about opposite 491, and 
took it all in. The reporters got everything down to the 
minutest details, and you can imagine what the papers looked 
like next morning. Not Boston alone, but everywhere. 
Headlines you could read a block away. Here was the real 
_ thing, and the newspaper chaps know one of those when 
they see it. 

The authorities laid the leakage to the Rathbuns, but of 
course couldn’t hold them for anything. When they came 
to figure up the effect of the revolver episode on the case, it 
didn’t alter matters to any extent. While it had the look 
of some kind of framing of Findlay, it was at the same time 
_ shown by this very episode that he had his revolver in his 
hands after the shooting and was chasing himself home with 
it at the time it was taken from him. The only real loss sus- 


284 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


tained by the prosecution was the necessary abandonment 
of the contention that Findlay’s revolver had been con- 
cealed by himself after the shooting, for, as it now ap- 
peared, somebody else had shoved it up in the water conduc- 
tor. But without this, the evidence against the man was am- 
ply sufficient. His violent threats—his frenzy at being 
shoved back out of the house by Haworth with the door 
slammed in his face—his position at the front window with 
his gun in his hand at the instant of the shooting—his mad 
flight from the grounds of the Cripps mansion, carrying (as 
it now appeared) his weapon with him—his incriminating 
behavior at the time of his arrest next morning in attempting 
to escape and then, when caught, endeavoring to get his wife 
to support him in his statement that he hadn’t left the house 
the evening before—all this, taken together with other evi- 
dence which had since been collected, meant nothing but swift 
conviction. 

But while the Chief Inspector and the District Attorney 
entertained no doubts as to the case against Findlay so far 
as the actual firing of the shots that killed his victim was 
concerned, this extraordinary seizure of the revolver in the 
public street and its concealment near the place where the 
murder had been committed, were a plain indication that 
others were involved in the crime, and now that it was accom- 
plished, were using every effort to frame it on him alone. 
It was a strong hand that was working in the dark against 
Findlay, and Mrs. Belden, the spirit medium, had shown 
that she knew a great deal about it. She’d been held, after 
the release of the others, at the room where the séance took — 
place, notwithstanding the indignant protests of the com- 
mittee; and orders were later given to bring her to head- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 285 


quarters. They’d soon make her tell where she got her in- 
formation—a key, most likely, to the whole thing. 

They’d have liked very well to get Mr. Dillingworth, too 
—the Lilly Dale medium whose control, alleged to be old 
Mr. Cripps, told where the gun was concealed. But that 
would be difficult. And then again a man wasn’t so easy 
to handle in a case like this. They could frighten a woman. 
She’d lose her head and tell them everything. 


_ Mrs. Belden was brought in by a couple of detectives. It 
was somewhere about three in the morning. Notwithstand- 
ing what she’d been through and her virtual arrest coming 
on top of it—for that’s what it was made to appear—she 
showed no signs of disturbance; indeed one would have 
thought she hardly noticed what was going on. She had, or 
assumed, a detached air, giving the impression that her mind 
was occupied with other and more important things than 
those in the immediate vicinity. A pleasant but vacant smile 
had been arranged on her countenance before her thoughts 
wandered abroad, as a friendly signal to those who might 
notice it fluttering there. 

She was brought before the Inspector. Several plain- 
clothes men stood about, watching her like hungry wolves. | 
Uniformed police were stationed at each door and a very 
large-sized one sat near the Inspector. She was to be im- 
pressed with the importance of what was about to occur. 

_ A detective brought her a chair. 

All went smoothly enough as to preliminary questions— 
name, address, occupation, etc.—although she replied ab- 
sently, and several times had to be recalled to herself and the 
question repeated before they could get a response. After 


286 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


this was over and an effective pause had followed, a police 
stenographer (plain clothes) rose, and read in a loud and 
impressive voice a report of what Mrs, Belden had said and 
done during the séance of the evening just passed, while 
under the alleged control of some one deceased. 

The moment this man announced what the report was 
about, that he intended to read, Mrs. Belden’s manner un- 
derwent a drastic change. Her detachment disappeared, 
and evidences of the most eager interest took its place. She 
listened with rapt attention to every word that had come 
through from Cynthia, and when the reading was finished 
breathed a sigh of the deepest satisfaction. 

“Mrs. Belden, you have heard the report of what was 
given out and said and uttered by you at the meeting held 
in the Board Room at Charnley’s this evening?” 

“What sir?’ she asked with a startled turn, aroused from 
her thoughts of the séance. 

“T say” (in a louder voice) “you have heard what has just 
been read—the report of what you gave out at a Spiritualistic 
meeting this past evening?” 

“Oh yes——yes indeed! How nice of you to put it all 
down!” 

“And do you acknowledge it to be a true and correct 
statement of your words on that occasion?” 

“Mercy! I’m sure I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know?” 

“Why no,” (shaking her head). “How could I when I 
was in trance?” : 

“In what?” 

Trance.” 

“What in God’s name is that?” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 287 


“JI really couldn’t tell. Why don’t you ask some of 
the committee? That’s what they’re trying to find out. I’m 
sure they’d be glad to i 

“One moment! Just one moment, madam!” spoke up a 
large man in uniform who was standing near the inspector. 
He wore a face and jowl something like Von Hindenburg 
and his voice was as the bellowing of a bull. “We’re here 
to ask you, Mrs. Belden! You are the person who uttered 
those words and we propose to hold you responsible!” 

“What the hell’s the committee got to do with it, any- 
way?” growled one of the detectives, whose natural gifts for 
vicious snarling had made him of value in a business like 
this. “It was you who said it—now you answer for it— 
see P’’ 

Mrs. Belden blinked from one to another of them in 
cheerful bewilderment. Her pleasant and comfortable smile 
still occupied her face, though for a moment a trifle inse- 
curely. 

“Now then,” went on the Inspector, “we'd like very much 
to hear from you, Mrs. Belden!” 

When he spoke she turned to him as though to a pleasing 
conversation with some new-found friend. 

“Be so good as to answer the question.” 

“The question ?” 

“Yes, the question !”’ 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember what 
it was!” 

“Don’t remember! Don’t remember! Well, Ill be 
damned!” (From the snarling one.) 

“Perfectly plain and simple, madam,” continued the In- 
spector, “Is this report which has just been read to you a 


288 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


true and correct statement of the words spoken by you at 
the séance or meeting this evening just passed?” 

“Oh dear me—but you see, I—I don’t know.” 

“You know what you said, don’t you?” 

“No sir.” 

“What’s the reason you don’t?” (Von Hindenburg speak- 
ing.) “Give us the reason! Don’t try to put over any of 
that trance cackle on us! Don’t you know what you say to 
people?” 

“Oh, no!” (shaking her head). “Not when I’m in— 
not when it’s like that.” 

“Mrs. Belden, aren’t you perfectly well aware that you 
told those present in the room to go to a certain street and 
number and get a man who was living there, for a wit- 
ness ?””’ 

i Wes'sin if 

“A——h!”” (A snarling roar.) “At last you’re beginning 
to remember, are you?” | 

“No sir, I don’t remember.” 

“You don’t!” 

“No sir.” 

“Then how do you know it?” 

“T heard that man over there read it.” 

“And did you remember then—when you heard him read 
it—that you’d said it?” 

“Why, I’m sorry, but I didn’t really remember having 
done so. I hope you—I hope you won’t mind.” 

“Whether you remember or not, Mrs. Belden, the fact 
that you did actually tell them this, remains!” 

“Oh yes indeed, that remains of course!’ She wanted to 
oblige these shouting and excited men in any way she could. 


in 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 289 


“Now then! You fully believe this to be the case—that 
you told them to go to the address on Collamore Street, and 
find a man who was smoking a pipe there, and bring him in 
for a witness?” | 

“Oh yes, I do believe it, really!’ 

“Ah—you do! Well that’s something!” 

“Why, I don’t see why that man” (looking at him) “should 
want to tell a lie about it, do you? I’m sure he looks hon- 
est !” 

“Never mind how he looks. You acknowledge in our 
presence that you said those words, or words to that effect 
—you admit that you did give that street and number. Now 
what we want to know is, where you got that information?” 

“Yes!” (From the snarling hyena man.) ‘Who told 
you? Where did you find it out? J say, where did you find 
wt out?” 

“Find what out?” 

“That a man living at four hundred ninety-one Collamore 
Street saw something that made him a valuable witness. 
Where did you find that out?” 

“Oh, but you don’t understand at all—I didn’t find it out!’ 

“You knew tt, didn’t you?” | 

“Oh no, I really had no idea of it at all!” 

“Here! Here!” from the Hindenburg man. 

“My God woman” (from the hyena man) “you said it— 
you acknowledged it—we’ve got half a dozen witnesses 
who'll swear to that!” 

“Oh yes! Well, doesn’t that satisfy you?” 

“Tt does not! You're going to tell us where you got that 
tip! It came from somewhere—that somewhere is what 


290 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME | 


we'll get out of you—and don’t you make any mistake about 
that!” 

Mrs. Belden, unable to comprehend, smiled vaguely at 
them as if hoping to soothe and quiet them thereby. 

“Answer me this: How could you tell them all that about 
Collamore Street if you didn’t know it yourself?” . 

“T don’t know, but if you'll ask one of the committee 
men ‘ 

“Be quiet!” “That’s enough of that!” “Committee be 
damned!’ And general protests from the men in the room. 

Mrs. Belden subsided pleasantly. Her smile flickered a lit- 
tle but refused to go out. 

“I’m not here to ask committee men,” the Inspector went 
on. ‘I’m here to ask you!” 

“That’s very nice of you, I’m sure!” (A little doubt- 
fully.) 

- “And what’s more, you’re going to tell me! You're going 
to tell me where you got your information about that wit- 
ness in Collamore Street before you leave this place!” 

“Oh, I hope I can—if you feel so about it!” 

“Go on with it then! How came you to know anything 
about that witness at four hundred ninety-one Collamore 
Street? How was that? Explain yourself!” 

“Why I thought I told you that I didn’t know anything 
about him! What funny questions you ask me!’ 

“But you acknowledge that you told them about hin—you 
acknowledge that! Don’t you acknowledge that?” 

“Oh yes indeed—I acknowledge that!” 

“Well if you told them about him you must know about 
him! You can’t tell a thing unless you know it, can you?” 
“Well, you see, when I’m in trance Ms 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 291 


(A burst of yells and imprecations from the men in the 
room.) “Don’t give us any more of that!’ the Inspector 
went on as soon as it was quiet. “Just get the idea out of 
your head that you can put that kind of birdseed over on 
us! From now on no more trances and rappings and slates 
and the whole bag of tricks! We know these games—every 
one of ’em, an’ they don’t go here! They don’t go here, 
Mrs. Belden! Now you tell me straight, where did you get 
that information about the witness on Collamore Street?” 

“T didn’t get it at all.” 

“You mean you told them all that—told them just where 
to find a man—the very street—the very number—the very 
apartment—the very pipe he smoked—and didn’t know any 
of those things yourself?” 

“Oh yes—it’s so strange, isn’t it! When I’m in a——” 

“None o’ that now!’ (From the Inspector, speaking 
above a general murmur of protest from the police and de- 
tectives. ) 

Mrs. Belden smilingly held her peace. 

The Inspector, McCurran, paused a moment in order to 
increase the impressiveness of his next question. 

“Mrs. Belden,” he began, in a lower voice and with over- 
powering solemnity, “do you realize the position in which 
you are placing yourself by your refusal to answer this 
question ?” 

“Why, I’m afraid you don’t like it at all!” 

“Not Jske it, madam! I can assure you that it’s a great 
deal worse for you than Not LIKING IT! We are compelled 
to conclude that for some reason known only to yourself 
you are SHIELDING the person or persons WHO ARE GUILTY 
OF THIS FIENDISH CRIME!” 


292 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Dear me! Why, who do yon think it is?” 

“You apparently have no idea what such a thing may mean 
to you!” 

“No sir.’ (She was so interested that she was leaving 
her smile alone to get along the best it could without her.) 
“T’m almost sure I haven’t!” 

“A person who shields one guilty of murder is an ACCEs- 
SORY AFTER THE FACT!” 

“Mercy! Am I—am I one of those ?” 

“Tt certainly begins to look like it, madam!” 

“Why how perfectly dreadful!” 

“Now before you’re arrested and tried on that charge 
we'll give you one more chance to clear yourself! You 
understand—one more chance and that’s the last!” 

“Well that’s—I’m sure you’re very kind! Is it something 
you want me to do?” 

“That’s what it is, madam, and your only chance is to po 
17 Now! Tell us where you got your information about the 
witness on Collamore Street!” 

“But how can I when I didn’t get it anywhere? It was 
whoever was in control that had it. That man there who 
read it said Cynthia was the name.” 

“Well then, where did Cynthia get it?” 

“Oh, well,” (the smile spreading) “I’d like to know that 
myself !” 

And so it went on hour after hour, Mrs. Belden cheerful 
and unmoved, her questioners more and more wearied ; bored 
beyond words by her dense and unshakable simplicity and 
maddened by her invulnerable smile; until finally they had 
to give it up and tell her to go home. Smiling pleasantly, 
she thanked them and said she’d enjoyed it very much. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 293 


Though it seemed that some mysterious person or persons 
—dead or alive—were framing Augustus Findlay, the Grand 
Jury had indicted him for murder, and the evidence against 
him was seemingly overwhelming. 

As for Findlay himself, his state of mind was pitiable. He 
had no doubt whatever that he had fired the shots that killed 
Charles Haworth, and Mr. Forbes (of Houston, Forbes & 
McAllister), the Defense Attorney, had all he could do to 
keep the frightened wretch from confessing in the hope of 
having mercy shown him. A prospect of life imprisonment 
gave him no uneasiness; what appalled him was the thought 
of death. And it certainly looked black for him as the day 
set for his trial drew near. 

Then late one night the Associated Press took a hand—or 
rather let us say extended a hand—from the wind-swept 
reaches of Chicago. Mr. Harcourt Sidney was a well- 
established materializing medium doing business in that 
city. Through his efforts and ministrations some remarkable 
spirit phenomena had taken place, and he had a choice and 
well-to-do clientele—the well-to-do feature being by far the 
more important one to him. This man Sidney was not only 
clever in the line of materialization, but he was a trumpet 
medium as well, and many of his other-world communicants 
appeared to find this an assistance in getting through. 

In the practice of his profession, as Mr. Sidney conducted 
it, there would be specially arranged private meetings at the 
houses of those belonging to the circle; and Mr. Sidney, 
securely tied into a plain kitchen chair with stout ropes, and 
his thumbs and fingers wound with easily breakable thread, — 
would bring—or let us say persuade to come—from the spirit 
world, many friends or relatives of those present, so that 


204 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


they seemed to be actually there in the darkened room, able 
to converse freely in their own voices, and often with other 
characteristics of their earthly existence easily distinguish- 
able. 

These sittings or séances were entirely private, and I don’t 
have to tell you that no admission fee was charged. But if 
any of those who attended felt that their enjoyment had 
been of quite unusual dimensions either in the way of wit- 
nessing absorbingly interesting phenomena or in having de- 
parted friends or relatives actually speak to them, sometimes 
even allowing shadowy glimpses of themselves like faint half- 
luminous clouds to be seen shimmering about in the dark- 
ness, they were at liberty to send to Mr. Sidney any little 
token of esteem that they felt like offering. 

Quiet and select little spiritistic gatherings like this were 
started all over the country, when the extraordinary revival 
of interest in such things came along carrying some very 
big names at the top of it. And I want to tell you that 
there’s millions of dollars coming to the people owning these 
names if a commission on the business they brought in for 
the mediums could be collected. 

At these private sittings, with Mr. Sidney in the chair, 
so to speak, not only the friends and relatives of those pres- 
ent, but also quite a number of distant acquaintances, or even 
just fellow townspeople, would occasionally drop in; a few 
came at nearly every meeting for a bit of a chat. It was 
almost as if they enjoyed talking things over with their 
mundane fellow citizens—and for all I knéw they did. 

One of these few who made an occasional spirit call, was 
a man well known not only to everyone in that circle, but to 
nearly everybody in the United States as well; he had been 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 295 


a renowned—you might almost say world-famous—detec- ' 
tive, a great part of whose life had been spent in Chicago. 
A most entertaining talker he was, and seemed to enjoy the 
opportunity of conversing with those he had left on earth 
when he passed over, as the saying is. 

At one of these private séances on an evening along about 
the time I’ve just been speaking of, they’d been having visits 
from various dead ones (dead in an earthly sense I mean) 
for upwards of an hour, when the medium announced the 
approach of this well-known man, and in a moment the 
trumpet was seized in a strong grasp and a visit with him of 
more than usual interest followed. Some one in the circle 
alluded to the Haworth case in Boston, which had become, 
by this time, owing to the unusual occurrences connected 
with it, quite the talk wherever you went. 

Then a man on the other side of the circle asked Mr. P. 
(which is what we'll call this spirit) if he’d be willing to say 
anything about that singular affair. “Certainly singular,” he 
said, talking through the trumpet, which made his voice loud 
and clear; “an’ I notice that several people on this side have 
got excited about it.” 

“But can’t you give us anything about the case yourself?” 
was the next question. And I'll tell you beforehand that his 
answer was in the morning edition of every newspaper in 
the country, as well as Canada. It was about like this as I 
got it from the papers. 

“Well now,” Mr. P. objected at first, “I can’t say I like 
talking about that. What would I do, butting in?” 

But many in the circle now began begging him to give 
them just a hint of what his opinion was—what he said to 
be treated as strictly confidential. 


296 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Well,” he finally said, “if you'll just consider it a pri- 

vate matter between ourselves an’ leave my name out of 
it, ll say this: While I have every respect for those Boston 
boys, they’ve got it doped out wrong. I didn’t see the thing 
done, but as soon as I heard about it I went over there an’ 
took a look around. The trouble is they’ve got it set in 
their minds the shots were fired from outside. Everything 
was fixed to look that way, but, heavenly Jerusalem! that’s 
what’s the matter with it—it was fired! They’d ought to take 
a look at those front window blinds no matter if the vines 
are growing over ’em. You can do a great deal with vines 
if you give your mind to it. Also they'll find a bullet struck 
one o’ the elms out in front. If they want it they can get 
it about fifteen feet up. The feller was firing high, whoever 
he was.” 

That was all Mr. P. would say on the subject, except that 
you couldn’t expect any sort of good work in these days 
with a pack of yelping newspaper hounds worrying the life 
out of you and giving away anything they could get hold 
of so the man you were after could act accordingly. After 
a few anecdotes about how they kept things quiet in his © 
day, on the principle that when your man was working in | 
the dark against you you ought to be let alone to do the 
same by him, he said good night and was gone. Instantly 
the meeting broke up, and everybody was buzzing about. 
Two or three jumped into a car and made for the Loop 
District to talk it over with a couple of managing editors 
they knew, and the conclusion quickly reached was to 
transmit the message to the Boston police and also let the 
Associated Press have it—this without making use of Mr. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 207 


P.’s name. The result was that it went out to the press as 
a Mediumistic Message from a Celebrated Detective. 

It’s hardly necessary to state that the reporters at head- 
quarters wanted to know this and that, and what you might 
call a press rush was made for Torrington Road. But the 
police were already making an investigation, and the news- 
paper men were kept out of the grounds until it was fin- 
ished. 


The outside blinds to the front window of the room 
on the left—which were flat against the wall on each 
side—had the appearance of having been undisturbed for 
years. Tangled Virginia creeper grew so densely over them 
that they could hardly be found. Yet when it came to the 
work of clearing these vines away it was discovered that 
hardly any effort was required. The blinds had evidently 
been opened as wide as possible and the vines hung over 
them. 

When brought to view, these shutters told their gruesome 
tale. Two smashing bullet holes far up near the top where 
no one standing on the ground outside could have reached,— 
one splintering a slat of the left-hand shutter, the other cut- 
ting a fairly clean hole through the frame of the one on the 
right, and both giving unmistakable evidence of having come 
through from the inside (of course when the shutters were 
closed) submitted their silent evidence. 

The murderer, whoever he was, had evidently failed to 
think of the blinds until it was too late, and they were 
shattered by the bullets that had killed Charles Haworth. 
Then, with no time to otherwise dispose of them, the mass of 
vines had been torn away from the wall on each side until 


298 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


the shutters could be opened back against it, and the vines 
then pulled over them. All this was a trick to make it 
appear that the shots were fired from outside the front win- 
dow—or at any rate to avoid anything that conflicted with 
that idea. Again that mysterious framing for the conviction 

of Findlay. 
-. In either event the shattered window blinds and one of 
the bullets found embedded in the trunk of an elm tree a 
few feet away, plainly indicated that Findlay could not have 
fired the shots, even though he may have thought he did, 

Added to this was the significant fact that the detectives 
had been unable to find any trace of a bullet on the walls at 
the inner end of the room, where they should have been if 
fired from outside the front window. The District Attorney 
was obliged to enter a nolle prosse, and that was the end 
of it. 

Augustus Findlay was a free man. 


His Attorney, Mr. Archibald Forbes, was waiting for him 
in the corridor, and with a muttered “Come along, quick!” 
hurried him out to a taxi. The windows of this vehicle were 
covered with newspapers pasted to the inside, and a man with 
a heavy and obtrusive jaw was seated within. 

When the door was opened and Augustus saw this man, he 
hesitated, but Mr. Forbes shoved him aboard and got in 
after him. The instant the door closed, the taxi dashed down 
the street. The three men were shaken and tumbled about 
as they rattled on at what, to Findlay, appeared to be break- 
neck speed. The papers pasted to the windows prevented 
his seeing where they were going. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD — 299 


It was something like half an hour before the machine 
stopped. 

“Be careful!’ warned Mr. Forbes in a hoarse whisper. 
“We get out here and you’ve got to keep between us! If 
they find out we’ve got you away, they’ll nab you!” 

“What is it—what are you i 

“Sh!” warned the lawyer, impressively. 

The two men ran across the walk, Augustus between 
them, and as they did so the door of the house before which 
the taxi had stopped was opened from the inside, and they 

dashed madly up the steps and plunged in, the door being 
instantly closed after them. 

It was a vacant house and without furniture of any kind. 
Findlay was taken to a dark room in the basement where 
coal had been kept. It contained bins and piles of rubbish 
which coyld be sat upon in an extremity. 

“You going to do something to me?” Findlay managed 
finally to stammer out. 

“Shut your mouth!” from the man with the jaw. 
~ “Now listen to me,’ began Mr. Forbes in a low voice. 
“T got you off by a fluke, but they’ll be on to it in an hour 
_ortwo. Mr. Sugden here’s a Department detective and he'll 
get you by the police to-night and put you on a train. Also 
he’s got a wad of money for you—subscribed by friends. 
Now I’m done with you! I said I’d get you off and by God! 
I’ve done it! But if they ever get you again you're finished 
—remember that!” Having said which Mr. Forbes went up 
stairs and left the house. 

_ Augustus stood silent. After a time he roused himself 
and glanced about. His eyes fell on Mr. Sugden and a 
pathetic look came into them. 


300 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Say,” (his voice trembling) ‘“‘you look like a decent 
sport—that might help a feller out.” 

“What the hell do ye want? Ain’t I get’n’ ye by the 
cops ?” 

“Yes—yes—but I You see, it’s this way. I’m feel- 
ing pretty sick—an’ if you could manage to get me a drink 


33 


somewheres 

“Listen here, Topsy!’ Sugden spoke unfeelingly. “You're 
going to Canada—didn’t you know that? Canada, you fish 
bait, where you can swim in it!” 

Shortly after this the detective left, reappearing again 
about nine o’clock with a few things that Findlay had left 
at the Charles Street jail, and in addition a heavy winter 
overcoat which he made the frightened wretch put on. 
Somewhere about a quarter to eleven o’clock they cautiously 
left the house, got into a taxi that was waiting, and were 
driven to the Trinity Place Station of the Boston and Al- 
bany. Sugden took Augustus down to the platform for the 
westbound trains, and arriving there, shoved him to one 
side where they were in the shadow. 

“Listen here,” he growled in a low voice with warning in 
it. “You're goin’ to take the night train for St. Louis, due 
here in about one minute. But ye don’t stay on that train— 
get me? There'll be a bull waitin’ fur ye at the Union 
Station out there if ye do. You're goin’ to side-step at 
Albany—see? It’ll be five in the morning. Keep to the 
shadows an’ slouch on to the Montreal train at seven. Ye 
change at Rouses Point, an’ that helps throw ’em off. When 
ye hit Montreal, lay low! Get a bunk at some joint. Mon- 
key with that mug 0’ yours. Raise a crop o’ hay on it; an’ 


1»? 


whatever ye do, don’t be seen with a paper from the States 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 201 


in yer han’s or they'll cop you. After about two weeks 
climb on a steamer for England. You'll find a fake pass- 
port in with the railroad ticket in that pocket” (touching 
Findlay’s overcoat on the right breast). “‘There’s another 
name on it. You ain’t Findlay any more. There’s a wad 
o’ money sewed in the linin’. Lose yerself over there. An’ 
if yer life is worth anything to ye don’t cross back to this 
side again. There'll be a big reward out for ye an’ there’s 
sharp guys here that makes a hell of a livin’ keepin’ tabs 
on boobs like you. I’m one of ’em. An’ if ever ye do take a 
fancy to come back I hope I'll be the guy that puts the nip- 
pers on ye. There’s yer train!” (With an ugly jerk of 
his head toward it). “Now on with ye, an’ I’ll keep back any 
cops that’s followin’.” 

Augustus hurried into the coach, and Sugden stood close 
to the steps until the train moved on—which was in a few 
seconds, as the stop at Trinity Place is brief in the extreme. 

Of course you'll realize that all this elaborate framing 
was for the purpose of getting Findlay permanently out of 
the Western Hemisphere. After the nolle prosse there was 
nothing in the world they could hold him for. Who it was 
that had got Mr. Forbes and Mr. Sugden to carry out this 
scheme did not at the time, appear. 


Following at once on the collapse of the case against Au- 
gustus and his discharge from custody, came the arrest of 
James Dreek, the butler, and the holding of him for the 
murder. 

In his avid eagerness for every detail that can be found 
(or manufactured) in murder cases, the newspaper addict 
skips with perfect ease from one suspect to another, often 


302 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


seemingly glad of the change. In this instance, however, 
the very unusual interest had been aroused, not so much by 
the hunt for the person or persons guilty of the crime 
(though that feature was rapidly becoming absorbing) as 
by the extraordinary manner in which the evidence in the 
case was being brought to light. Everybody knew of that 
celebrated detective in Chicago not long deceased, and his 
brief and characteristic comments on the Haworth case 
through the mediumistic services of Mr. Harcourt Sidney, 
and his calling attention to the shattered window blind and 
the bullet in the tree, made not only a sensation, but a strange 
and alluring one. 

From the first intimation that somebody was framing Au- 
gustus Findlay—which flashed upon them when Mr. Rath- 
bun told of the fight for the revolver under his window in 
Collamore Street—the detectives had fastened their eyes 
on Dreek. There were already a few things that didn’t look 
well for the young butler. They’d found a loaded revolver 
under a lot of soiled linen on the floor of a cupboard in the 
butler’s pantry. One or two letters they got out of his trunk 
had an ugly look. Worst of all was the finding of his foot- 
prints on each side of the front windows of the room on the 
left, these imprints overlapping those of Augustus Findlay 
—thus showing that he’d been there after Findlay had run 
away. These Dreek footprints had not meant so much 
before, as Findlay was known to have been at the window 
when the shots were fired, and therefore Dreek arrived 
afterward. But now that it was proved that the firing was 
from within the house, it involved Dreek in several ways, 
two of them being serious. Not only was he the only one 
in the house with Haworth, according to all the evidence 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 303 


(excepting his own), and therefore apparently the only one 
who could have fired from the inside, but the footmarks 
showed unmistakably that he was the one who went round 
after the murder and opened the shutters back against the 
wall, replacing the vines over them in such a way that they 
would give the appearance of not having been disturbed at 
all. He was now, on account of this, definitely in the posi- 
tion of trying to throw the guilt on an innocent man. This 
was corroborated by a number of small items—the marks of 
a house stepladder outside under each shutter, the finding of 
a house stepladder in the back entry which fitted into these 
marks, and the fingerprint people reporting that Dreek had 
been the last one who had handled it. He had insisted most 
_ emphatically in his earlier testimony that he had gone out 
of the rear door several minutes before the shooting and 
wasn’t in the house when it occurred. But there was noth- 
ing to show that this was the case. On the contrary there 
was every reason to suppose that he had not left the house 
with the stepladder until after the shots were fired. 

Of course he was in for a fearful ordeal. I’m not 
going to describe it to you, but only give you my word that 
they third-degreed Jamie Dreek good and plenty. 

Precisely in the midst of these painful proceedings the 
Associated Press again took a hand in the game—or to put 
it more accurately, played a hand that had been dealt to it. 

It was the day following the second night of Dreek’s 
torment. The police had kept him awake for twenty-nine 
hours with their shouted questions and punching-up process 
and rough handling. The job was nearly done. He was 
“ripe” (put that in quotes) to sign anything or confess any- 


304 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


thing. And then came the noon editions with big front page 
headlines on top of A. P. dispatches from San Francisco. 

It seems a well-known medium out there by the name of 
Waverley Bentick was doing his turn—or whatever’s the 
right name for it—at one of the specially high-class Spirit- 
istic assemblies, held in a large hall commonly alluded to 
as their “church,” and situated some considerable way out 
Golden Gate Avenue. Mr. Bentick was passing out messages 
to people in the auditorium, when, as he was in the midst of 
a communication for a woman sitting in the second row, he 
suddenly stopped and called out, ‘“Wait a moment, please, and 
let this lady finish!—Just a moment, I say!—You mustn’t 
break in like that!’ 

There was a pause. Then the medium resumed in an al- 
tered tone, speaking to the assemblage: “I’m sorry, but a 
man has pushed in, in spite of everything my control can 
do!—Tall—heavily built—grizzled gray hair—pointed beard 
—looks as if he might be a doctor. . . . No—says he isn’t 
one. Only keep us a moment—been trying to get through 
in Boston—too many in the way. It’s about some murder 
case over there—the Howard case, is that it? ... No—that 
isn’t it! He doesn’t speak very distinctly..... What? 
.... All right, go on... . H-a-w-o-r-t-h. Oh, the Ha- 
worth case! Yes, we’ve heard of that! I should think so!” 

Instantly there was intense interest shown—people cran- 
ing forward to listen, and calls of, “Go on—go on!” For 
the extraordinary developments in the case had by this time 
made it known everywhere,—especially among those of the 
Spirit Sect—if that-is a proper way to refer to them. 

“He says he wants to speak of something now—while 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 305 


they’re third-degreeing a man—as it may apply to him. 
Something about money—yes—some money—large amount 
—paid to victim a few hours before he was shot. Thirty- 
five thousand dollars. . . . Is that right? . . . Yes—thirty- 
five thousand. Police haven’t been able to trace it... . If 
they want thirty-four thousand five hundred of it—old barn 
—old barn .. . Yes, we understand—old barn. What about 
it? ... He says follow butler’s footprints. . . . northwest 
corner in foundation wall under sill timber. . . . Take out 
loose stone. . . . That’s all. . . . Good-by.” 

In this case the Boston police got a rush wire from San 
Francisco that gave them nearly a forty-five minutes’ start. 
Inside of twenty after it came in, a Department automobile 
was speeding through Centre Street, Jamaica Plain, and four 
minutes later was turning in at the old Cripps gate from 
Torrington Road. | 

Perhaps you'll have noticed that the attitude of the au- 
thorities toward messages from the other world had under- 
gone something of a change. Even if the Inspector and 
others still entertained the notion that these communications 
were founded on trickery of some kind, they were obliged 
to admit that it was trickery with a hell of a kick to it, and 
that made all the difference in the world. 

It wasn’t exactly child’s play—nor even adult’s recreation 
—to trace out James Dreek’s footmarks between the flag 
paving at the rear of the house and the old barn farther 
back. But the old weed-grown drive up which he’d gone was 
fairly soft, and they finally succeeded, arriving at the north- 
west corner of the barn and finding the loose stone in the 
foundation wall just under the sill timber. The thirty-four 
thousand five hundred was in the cavity behind it. 


306 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


This happened in the small hours. Close to four o’clock 
in the morning it was—on account of the three-hour differ- 
ence in time. The papers got it for their afternoon editions. 
But the police treated it as an old story. “Oh yes, we got 
the money some time ago!” “Yes, pretty good guess from 
San Francisco, but a bit late!’ “Of course it’s a bad thing 
for Dreek!” That was about the gist of answers to the 
frantic inquiries from the reporters at headquarters. 

That same morning about eleven o'clock James Dreek was 
_ nearing the point of breakdown that the police were working 
him for. The gang that took him on at noon (they worked 
in shifts) had it in for him. Even then the pitiable wretch 
was trying to answer as best he could, but he found it diffi- 
cult to remember anything at all or even to understand what 
his persecutors were talking about. Furthermore, his voice 
was nearly gone, and his tongue so swollen and dry that he 
couldn’t speak with any sort of distinctness. 

“Ye say ye ran out o’ the house before the murder was 
committed—that’s what ye say, is it? Answer! What’s 
the matter with ye! Answer the question! Answer the 
question !”” 

Dreek tried to say “Yes,” but could hardly more than 
move his lips. It must have been the eight hundred and 
sixty-eighth time they’d asked him that. 

“Now go on an’ tell us why ye run out? Why? Why? 
What was it started ye out? Was ye sick? Whad did ye 
tun out for? ... Punch ’im up Lucas! . . . Whad did ye 
run out for? Whad did ye run out for?” 

“I—I thought ” His dry mouth and swollen tongue 
made it almost impossible to form words. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 307 


“Go on—go on—go on! Whad did ye think?” 

“Something terrible—going—happen !’ 

“Goin to happen! How in hell’s name could you know 
something was goin’ to happen unless you was goin’ to 
MAKE it happen! It did happen, by God, an’ it was you 
made it happen—an’ then ye ran out o’ the house so’s you 
could. FRAME SOMEBODY ELSE FoR IT!” 

“No! No!” (With much difficulty and shaking his head.) 

“What was it, then? What was it? What made ye run 
out °” 

“Nos—noises!” His tongue seemed to get in his way. 

“What kind o’ noises? ... Punch ’im up Lucas!... 
What noises ?” 

“Noises—cellar—lights out—scared—tran for police.” 

“Oh—police! Ye ran fur the police!’ 

Dreek nodded, and his bloodshot eyes rolled heavily from 
one to another of his burly questioners. 

“Did ye have to take a ladder with ye to find ’em?” 

*“Laddle—laddle—ladder °” 

“Don’t try any funny business with us—we know what ye 
did! Now what about that ladder, eh? WHAT ABOUT IT?” 

“Oh—ladder—yes! Misser Ha’orth ass me open blin’s— 
front winnow. So I—I—I was ” He broke off as his 
head fell forward in sleep. | 

“Punch him up Lucas! Keep ’im on the job, can’t ye! 
. . . Listen here, Dreek—that ladder was to open the blinds, 
ye say. Now what did ye want ’em open for—tell me that! 
TELL ME THAT!” 

“Yes ” (with a great effort to keep awake). “Always 
Misser Ha’orth like blin’s open—always!’’ 


308 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Then what the hell was they shut for? What was they 
sHuT for? ... Punch ‘im up Lucas—put a dig in’im!... 
Now answer the question! WHAT WAS THEY SHUT FOR?” 

Dreek struggled to remember, but finally shook his head. 

“Now I will ask ye something. What about that money? 
Ye wouldn’t answer lass night, but now we got it on ye! 
You saw that money! What?’ - 

“T—I 

“You saw it, I say! You saw that big pile o’ bills they had 
out on the table? Why don't ye answer? I'll tell you why— 
YE’RE AFRAID TO TELL!’ 

“No” (shaking his head) “not afraid! I saw—yes.” 

“What was ye do’n’ sneakin’ round spyin’ on ’em like that 
when they had money in sight? Why didn’t ye stay in the 
kitchen where ye belong ?” 

“I—I don’ know Oh—now—yes! They rang—they 
ass me—sign paper—witness !”” | 

“A fine witness you was, all right, all right!” 

Every detective in the room roared with laughter. The — 
man who'd been questioning turned suddenly on Dreek. 
“When did ye crib Ae iat ?” he demanded. 

“When did I 

“You got it! Don’t ye s’pose we know you got it? Now 
when? When? D’ye hear? WHEN DID YE CRIB THAT 
MONEY?” ! 

The muscles of Dreek’s throat went through the spasmodic 
motions of swallowing. 


33 


“T—promised not to 
“Not to what? Whad did ye promise—eh ?” 
“Not to—say—anything 
“Who did ye promise that to?” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 309 


“Miss’r Ha’orth.”’ 

“How did that happen ?” 

“He handed—money—me.” 

“Oh, handed it to ye, did he? Made a little present o’ 
thirty-five thousand to ye, I s’pose!”’ 

Dreek tried to speak but couldn’t manage it. 

“Whad did ye do with it?” 

Again Dreek couldn’t get the words out—it would take so 
many to explain it. 

“T'll tell ye what ye did with it—ye put ét in the barn be- 
hind a loose stone! D’ye deny that?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, ye don’t deny it! Ye did it! Ye stole that money 
from Charles Haworth an’ then, by God! ye hid it in the wall 
o’ that barn! D’ye confess you hid it there?” 

“He ass me pu’ there—safe place!” 

“So! Now ye got it out! Now, by God, we got yer story 
an’ a pretty one it is! What ye’ve told us is jus’ the same 
as a confession ye shot the man yerself! Yes, by God! ye 
jus’ as good as said it! Now, the way it stan’s, yer one 
chance is to spit out the truth in plain words! The truth is © 
ye shot Haworth yerselfi—ye hid the money yerself—an’ ye 
went out an’ opened the shutters yerself so people ’u’d think 
a man outside done the shootin’! Put that in plain words 
an’ sign it an’ ye got some chance! Ye got a chance o’ mercy 
from the court if ye confess ye did that! W’at about it— 
en?’ 

The “No” Dreek tried to say couldn’t be forced through 
his parched mouth, so he shook his head. | 

“The story ye’ve told’ll put ye in the chair—give ye the 


310 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


grand burn—see ?—shock the guts out o’ ye! YE HEAR wt 
I say?” 

Dreek made no attempt to answer. 

“They'll find ye guilty in ten minutes! That story ye told 
is the end o’ ye! THAT’S YOUR FINISH, BY GOD!”’ 

Another persecutor started in on him—an enormous man 
with a rumbling, bellowing voice: ‘‘Didn’t you open those 
shutters, Dreek? Didn’t you open ’em back against the wall 
and put the vines over em? Didn’t you take that ladder out 
there and do that thing? Aren’t you the one who did it? 
Answer that! AREN’T YOU THE ONE?” | 

“Yes ” Dreek got out in a whisper and nodded his 
head a little. 

“That convicts you! That convicts you!” 

“You’re fur the chair!” another detective joined in. 
“You’re fur the chair! You’re done fur now, by God!” 

“That’s the end o’ you!” “You're in for the dead house!” 

They’d all come up with a rush and were standing close 
about him. Painfully he turned his eyes from one to another 
as they spoke, all joining in with violent exclamations as to 
his finish. 

“There’s only one thing that’ll save you now!” roared the 
man with the bellowing voice. “Only one thing to do now if 
you want mercy: sign a confession an’ they’re bound to treat 
you fair! youR ONLY CHANCE ON EARTH!” He snapped his 
fingers and a stenographer (plain-clothes man) entered from 
the inner office and handed him a typewritten sheet. “Here 
it is,” he went on. “He’s written it out—just what you told 
us—just what you told us.” 

“Wha—wha—what I——” (A weak whisper.) 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 311 


“Just that. For Christ’s sake can’t you see we’re trying 
to get you off the death sentence? It may be prison, but 
what’s that? A few years an’ then some damn Governor 
that wants women’s votes pardons you out! Here it is—put 
your name there. See that line?” 

Dreek was holding a pen clutched awkwardly in his hand, 
having no idea where it came from. He managed to shake 
his head a little. 

“Not—not if it says I killed—— ....no—no.... 
not that—not f 

“Here Lucas And all the detectives in the room 
turned as if to leave. . “Put the next watch on him. One 
more night of it'll change his mind!’ 

“No!—Oh no!” Dreek made hoarse and breathless noises, 
“OQ my God!—not another—not another! O my God!” 

The big detective swung round to him suddenly. 


99 


“Sign here—right under here—see?’’ pushing the paper 
under his eyes, while another man seized the pen and dipped 
it in near-by ink. “Sign here—on that line! 11’s THE ONLY 
THING THAT'LL SAVE you!” | 

Other detectives gathered close round, shouting to him to 
go on and sign, and yelling threats in his ears of what would 
happen if he didn’t. 

James Dreek, gasping and mumbling incoherently and with 
shaking hand, made marks with the pen which were as near 
his written name as he could manage. 

The late editions that afternoon had a wealth of display 
headlines (the Department had seen to it that the Associated 
Press got the news at the earliest possible moment) which 
ran—in slightly varying forms to—this effect: 


12 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


FULL CONFESSION IN THE HAWORTH CASE 
JAMES DREEK THE ASSASSIN 


THEFT THE MOTIVE 
STOLEN MONEY RECOVERED BY POLICE 


_ BRILLIANT WORK OF DETECTIVES 
At last the Department had things coming its way—for 
which reason much relief was felt. 


As James Dreek had made a confession and signed it, the 
tide of public interest and curiosity began to ebb. There 
was no longer a mystery. The young butler had done the 
deed. Robbery was the motive. He had got hold of that 
thirty-five thousand dollars and hidden it. Some spirit in 
California had told the police where to look for it. This in 
itself was of course an odd occurrence, but the riddle of 
guessing who the guilty man was and why he did the appall- 
ing deed no longer existed. This being so, the bulk of the 
inhabitants of Boston and its environs began looking eagerly 
in their daily papers for the next killing. As to the sensa- 
tion-guzzlers in other cities, they no longer had their atten- 
tion diverted from their enthralling local atrocities. The 
amazing behavior of the spirits remained as something to be 
spoken of when the subject of ghosts and haunted houses 
came up. | 


As the date set for the Dreek trial approached, it appeared 
to those who kept in touch with spiritistic affairs, that ex- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 313 


treme restlessness regarding the Haworth case was prevalent 
in higher spheres—if what came through via various medi- 
ums could be taken as a truthful indication. 
_ A wire from Providence, Rhode Island, stated that a pri- 
vate séance in that town had been considerably upset by the 
insistent demands of a disembodied soul claiming to be that 
of the father of young Dreek, that something be done—and 
done damned quick—to rescue his son, who was absolutely 
innocent, from the clutches of the blackguards and bullies 
who posed in Boston as police, but who were simply low-lived 
thugs and dirty bums. The press despatch giving an account 
of the affair went on to say that the language proceeding 
from his apparition had grown so violent that two elderly 
ladies felt obliged to quit the room where the séance was 
being held, although it must be conceded that they were later 
seen to be listening just outside the door. It was really 
quite thrilling while it lasted, this flow of expert profanity, 
and a few knowing ones were aware that this spirit used 
expressions and dialect prevalent among a certain class of 
crooks practising in what is known as “The Gay Nineties.” 

The Press paid little attention to the Providence message © 
and the police none whatever, owing to the fact that nothing 
was included in it which substantiated its claims that Dreek 
was innocent. This communication, though, was followed by 
a disembodied statement—if I may put it that way—which 
reached the earth via a New Orleans trance medium, to the 
effect that the fools in Boston had third-degreed an innocent 
man to his death, adding that no surprise could be felt by 
those who remembered how the police had recently treated 
the entire populace of that unfortunate town. 

_ Dubuque, Iowa, sent in something of the same bind, and 


314 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


others began to crop up from places quite remote. All of 
which went far toward creating the impression that the next 
world was considerably dissatisfied with the proceedings of 
this one in the matter of the murder on Torrington Road, 
and that the inhabitants thereof were not averse to letting 
their feelings relating thereto become generally known. 

The members of the private circle in Chicago (recently al- 
luded to, and since then greatly increased in numbers) wished 
beyond anything else that Mr. P., the famous detective not 
long deceased, would return and let them have his views upon 
matters as they now stood in the Roxbury case. But it was 
their third meeting after the one at which he had advised the 
examination of the window shutters and the extraction of 
bullets from trees, before he dropped in again; and when he 
did come he gave the impression of trying his utmost to 
avoid the subject. Finally, upon being asked point-blank if 
he wouldn’t please let them know just his personal opinion 
as to the guilt or innocence of James Dreek, the reply came 
back through the trumpet that he thought it would be just 
as well to go easy on that young man. Those were his final 
words. When another question was put to him it was found 
that he had quietly slipped away; not even those very near 
heard the trumpet fall when he released it. 


In Boston there was displayed rather more of this spirit 
restlessness than elsewhere, for a considerable number of 
mediums about the city and its suburbs were getting com- 
munications from their controls protesting Dreek’s inno- 
cence and begging that something be done about it. 

More than any of the others were Mrs. Belden’s sittings 
(she was giving “private circles” now with great success) 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 318 


pervaded by this sort of thing, and it was the spirit of the 
hysterical Cynthia which created most of the disturbance. 
She took possession of the medium at every opportunity and 
was more often than not incoherent from excitement—or 
whatever it may be that appears so often to afflict the souls 
of people who have successfully emancipated themselves 
from the thralldom of their bodies. 

At several of Mrs. Belden’s séances (which were always 
held in private houses), Cynthia had occupied much of the 
time and without result—although owing to the great inter- 
est in the spiritistic features of this case, none of the persons 
present made objections to the delay. On the contrary, they 
all waited with eager interest, hoping that this spirit, which 
was the one through whom the revelation as to Mr. Rathbun 
and the fight for the revolver had come, would eventually 
disclose something else of equally startling importance. 

At these appearances of Cynthia—or more correctly at 
these times when she got the floor, as you might say—she 
occupied much of the time in mourning over the plight of 
poor Dreek and begging people to help in his rescue. Then, 
toward the end, the sitters could make out that she was des- 
perately anxious to see somebody—a woman, it appeared, 
but so far she’d been unable to get the name across. “Bring 
her here! Oh, bring her! She’s the only one—the only 
one who knows! The only one! The only one!’ And 
so on. 

On that, some one would ask the spirit for the name of the 
person she wanted so much, and always the answer came 
back from Cynthia: “Oh, I don’t know it! Not now—not 
now! It’s gone! I knew it before, but they’ve taken it away 
from me! Don’t you know who I mean? Oh, you must 


316 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


know! Can’t somebody tell?’ And that sort of thing, trail- 
ing off into moans and inarticulate sounds of pity. And 
soon after that she would vacate the medium. 


Dreek’s trial had been going on four days before Cynthia’s 
spirit was able to overcome whatever influence was holding 
her back—much as it had been on a former occasion—and 
‘then the whole thing poured out on them like a flood re- 
leased. 

Mrs. Amelia Temple was the woman she wanted. Mrs. 
Temple could save him. Couldn’t they bring her at once? 
Oh, quickly! She wanted to talk to her! When reminded by 
one of the circle that the old woman had, from the beginning, 
refused to say anything, she said: “No matter—bring her— 
bring her—bring her! Don’t waste time!’ And went on 
that way till she came near to hysterical shrieks. But even 
while she was carrying on like that people had gone out to 
try and find the old woman. 

It was late in the evening—something after eleven—when 
Mrs. Temple was brought to the house. There had been no 
difficulty in persuading her to come. It appeared that she 
had once had an experience. Quite far back in her life she 
had lost her mother, the only one dear to her at that time, 
and her loneliness and yearning had drawn her to spiritist 
gatherings where, she had heard, departed ones are able to 
come back and speak to those they have left behind. To her 
unspeakable joy she found that this was so, and became, 
forthwith, an intense devotee. But after about two ecstati- 
cally happy months of it her faith was rudely shaken, for, at 
a séance where materializations were being accomplished, she 
suddenly saw something that looked to her like evidence of 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 317 


fraud. At the next of these séances she became satisfied that 
there was fraud. It was a cruel blow to her. Many times 
she wished she hadn’t found out. From that time she never 
attended another séance or spiritist meeting of any kind. 

That was long ago. And now, after reading the newspa- 
per accounts of the developments in the tragic affair which 
so deeply concerned her (she read everything about it that 
she could find), the extraordinary spirit communications that 
had been received in connection with it, all but convinced her 
that, if there had been fraud in that long-ago experience of 
hers, it must have been only because of an untrustworthy 
medium and did not in any way affect the system or belief 
itself. One had only to see what marvels it was responsible 
for in this case, to be made certain that the spirits of the dead 
are here with us and doing what they can for our welfare. 

And so, upon being told that the spirit of Cynthia Cripps 
Findlay (she very well knew who was meant by that) was 
begging, through the mediumship of Mrs. Henrietta Belden, 
that she come and let her speak to her, she dressed imme- 
diately—for she’d gone to bed—and went with the two 
women who’d come from the séance to fetch her. 

The spirit of Cynthia began to talk the moment Mrs. ‘Tem- 
ple entered the dimly lighted room, and continued while she 
was being silently conducted to a chair near the medium. 

_“Oh, you’re here! Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. 
Temple! Oh, I do thank you! And you will help us—you 
will! You couldn’t refuse—you’re so tender-hearted to any- 
one in distress! And some one is in distress! Oh, some 
one is—terribly! It’s the poor Dreek boy, the butler who 
was with Mr. Haworth, and he’s being tried for murder at 
_ this very moment—and perfectly innocent as you know—as 


318 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


you know so well, Mrs. Temple. Why, the poor fellow never 
raised a finger to hurt anyone or steal anything—but there’s 
no way to save him unless you will tell them what you saw— 
just what you saw—that’s all we ask! It’s for his mother, 
his poor old mother, ill in New York! And, oh, listen to 
me—your mother is here—she’s here with me because she 
wants so much to help us, but she can’t speak to you herself— 
she’s one of those who can’t get through. She tried it long 
ago, as you may remember. So she asks me to tell you 
that she’s sure you'll help us save this innocent boy—for her 
sake if nothing else. And oh, will you please wait a moment, 
Mrs. Temple?” 

A short pause. Perfect stillness in the room. Then the 
spirit of Cynthia spoke again. 

“Your mother—I was speaking to her—oh, you can’t have 
any conception of how dear she is—she’s just waiting till 
you come—and she wants me to say that she loves you as 
always—it will never change—it couldn’t change—oh, 4 
couldn’t Mrs. Temple! And she’s been with you almost all 
the time—just staying near—that’s all she could do. And 
she’s so happy that you’re still keeping the old bonnet she 
used to wear—she sees it there in your trunk whenever she’s 
with you in the room—and she knows you'll think of this 
poor young man’s mother the same as she does, and what a 
terrible thing it would be for her if her son—who never did 
it—was found guilty of such a fearful, awful crime. It 
isn’t death (as you call it) that matters, but such a death! 
Oh, Mrs. Temple, think what it would mean to his poor 
mother, and for her sake and for your own mother’s sake, 
tell them what you saw—just tell them—oh—tell them !— 
Oh! ...” The voice of Cynthia, uttered through the ex- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 319 


pert mediumship of Mrs. Belden, trailed rapidly away to 
nothing and the spirit was gone. 


Mr. Forbes (for the defense) was unable to bring in Mrs. 
Temple’s testimony as a surprise. Though the séance was a 
strictly private one and held in a private residence and with 
no reporters admitted, the Inspector had insisted on having a 
representative at any “spirit circle” in which Mrs. Belden 
officiated; and although the representative in this case—a 
plain-clothes man—had seen to it that there were no listeners 
behind doors or otherwise concealed, and had afterward in- 
structed the medium and all those present not to give away 
anything that had been said or done, and furthermore had 
had every one of them shadowed by detectives both in the 
house and after they left it, the papers next morning had full 
accounts of the appeal of the disembodied spirit of Cynthia 
to the still-embodied spirit of Mrs. Temple, and the court 
room was packed with ar eager multitude, rabidly craving 
excitement. 

‘When her name was called, the crowd, as one person, held 
its breath, and strained its eyes to see and its ears to hear. 

The old woman was given a chair in the witness box, and 
the usual form of preliminary questioning gone through. 
After that, she was led by Mr. Forbes to describe how she'd 
been at one of the side windows of the room where the mur- 
der was done, a short time before it took place, and was try- 
ing to see in, but owing to its being pitch dark inside, she was 
unable to make out anything, though she heard strange and 
alarming noises; how she then hurried to the rear of the 
house and tried to get in there, but every door—even the 
basement—was locked, and she had to give it up; and how, 


320 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


more alarmed than ever about Mr. Haworth, she then started, 
as fast as she was able to go, toward the front of the house 
again. 

“When you were hastening in this way toward the front, 
Mrs. Temple, did you pass near the window where ve 
been trying to look in?” 

“Yes sir; the path warn’t more’n a few yards from the 
side winders, but it was mos’ly growed up with bushes an’ 
things in between.” 

“Could a person among the bushes at one of the windows, 
see anyone passing along that path?” 

“Ef there was any light, they could.” 

“What was your object in hurrying toward the front of 
the house again?” ’ 

“T wanted to git down to the road.” 

“What did you intend to do there?” 

“TI was goin’ to find some one to help me—ef I could.” 

“You mean the police?” 

“Mercy no! They ain’t no earthly use!” 

“I object!” shouted the District Attorney, springing to his 
reer: 

“Just answer the question, madam.” (From the Court.) 

“And I ask Your Honor that the remark of the witness 
be stricken from the record.” 

This request was granted, and Mr. Forbes went on. 

“Where did you expect to find help, Mrs. Temple?” 

“Tf I didn’t find nobody in the road, I was goin’ to try the | 
house on the fur side a ways up. There was some men 
there.” She put a very slight accent on the word “men.” 

“And did you go down to the road ?” : 

“No sir. I was stopped sudden-like by a bright light 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 321 


flashin’ up inside the room as I was goin’ by. It was so 
bright it lit up the chinks o’ the winders, an’ thinkin’ I could 
see then if anyone was there an’ what they was doin’, I 
pushed through the bushes an’ went up clost to one of ’em.” 

“Which one did you go to?” 

“Why, the first one I come to I seen the roller shade‘was 
pulled down, so I went on to the next.” 

“That would be the one nearest the front of the house?” 

“Yes sir, that was the one.” 

“And did you find that you could see anything inside?” 

“T found the shade was down there, too, but it warn’t 
pulled quite to the bottom so’s it left a narrer crack.” 

“And could you see into the room through this narrow 
aperture below the curtain?” 

“Not at first I couldn’t—the light dazzled me some—but 
in a minute I got used to it an’ then I could.” 

“Tell the Court what you saw, Mrs. Temple.” 

“Mr. Haworth—it was him I seen first. He was settin’ 
by the table, readin’ a book. After a minute or two he felt 
in his pocket an’ got his pipe out an’ filled it an’ was huntin’ 
around fur a match.” 

“Was there anyone else in the room?” 

“Not as I could see from the winder I was at. But just 
as he was lookin’ fur the match I commenced to think mebbe 
there might be somebody behind him in the back part o’ the 
room, so I hurried through the bushes to the other winder— 
the one further back. I knew the shade was down, but I 
thought mebbe there was a crack at the bottom same as the 
other, an’ I found there was—on’y not so much, but by twistin’ 
around I could get a look through to the back part o’ the 
room, an’ there was a man standin’ there, back against the 


222 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


door o’ the butler’s pantry, an’ he had a black thing in his 
hand that he was pointin’ at Mr. Haworth from behind.” 

A moment of tense stillness followed on this, as Mrs. Tem- 
ple stopped speaking. JI don’t suppose there was one person 
among the spectators in that packed court room who hadn't 
stopped breathing. 

After letting the pause have its full effect, Mr. Forbes 
spoke with all the solemnity he could command. 

“Mrs. Temple,” he said, “was the man you saw standing 
behind Mr. Haworth and aiming a black object at him, the 
accused you now see on trial in this court—James Dreek ?”’ 

The old woman shook her head. “No sir, it warn’t him,” 
she said. 

“Are you sure of that?’ 

“Yes sir.” 

“What makes you certain that it was not the accused?” 

“For one thing, he warn’t built no ways like him—he was 
heavy-set an’ solid. This man” (pointing at Dreek) “ain’t 
that way.” 

“You say his different size and build, for one thing. Was 
there something else that made you still more positive that 
this was not the man?” 

wes: sir,” 

“Kindly describe it.” 

“I was just turnin’ away from the winder to get to the 
other one an’ warn Mr. Haworth, when I seen this man 
you're tryin’ 4! 

“James Dreek?” interjected Mr. Forbes, to prevent any 
mistake as to the person she meant. 

“Yes sir, James Dreek—I seen him come hurryin’ along 
the walk carryin’ a ladder.” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 323 


“Which way was he going?” 

“Toward the front o’ the house.” 

“What did you do then?” 

“I kep’ on as fast as I could to the other winder—the one 
near where Mr. Haworth was—so’s I could call out an’ warn 
him. As soon as I got there I begun screamin’ out his name 
an’ beatin’ on the winder glass, but I hadn’t no more’n started 
doin’ that when there was a terrible loud crash of a gun goin’ 
off, an’ right after it another, an’ Mr. Haworth turnin’ round 
an’ tryin’ to ketch a holt o’ the table; but he couldn’t do it, 
an’ there he was sinkin’ down on the floor—sinkin’ down 
there right before my eyes!” 

It was some time before the old woman could go on, but 
the Court waited. Finally Mr. Forbes, seeing that she was 
getting control of herself, went on with the examination. 

“Tell us what you did then, Mrs. Temple.” 

“I—I kinder sunk down there under the winder—as if all 
my stren’th was took away. But in a minute I was able to 
git up again, an’ the first thing I see was this Dreek man on 
the path there where I’d seen ’im afore.” 

“What was he doing?” 

“Fle’d stopped where he was an’ let the ladder fall on the 
ground. But just as I looked at him he picked it up again 
an’ set off runnin’.” 

_ “Tn which direction did he run?” 

“The same as ’e was goin’ afore—toward the front o’ the 
house.” 

“And what did you then do, Mrs. Temple?” 

“T run as fast as I could toward the back—the kitchen.” 

“What was your idea in going there again ?” 

“Why I—I wanted to get to ’im as quick as I could.” 


324 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“To Mr. Haworth?” 

The old woman nodded, unable, for a moment, to speak. 

“What made you think you could get in? You'd tried ita 
few moments before, hadn’t you?” 

“Ves sir, but this Dreek man had come out sense then, an’ 
I didn’t think he was liable to ’uv locked the door, carryin’ 
the ladder like he was.” 

“Had he locked the door?” 

“No sift, he hadn’t.” 

“Which door was it?” 

“The basement.” 

“So you got in?” 

“Yes sir.” 

Mr. Forbes indicated that he was through with the witness, 
and the district attorney took her, his manner conveying the 
impression that he considered her testimony as almost too 
flimsy to waste time over. He soon learned, however, that 
it wasn’t such an easy matter to punch holes init. As asam- 
ple, without going into it as a whole :— 

“T believe you made the statement, Mrs. Temple, as other 
witnesses have done, that the night when all this occurred 
- was a dark one. Did you so testify?” 

“Yes ‘sir.” 

“Was there a moon?” 

“T didn’t see none.” 

“But you admit the night was unusually dark?” 

“Tt was dark—I ain’t got no idea how unusual it was.” 

“Very well—that’s all I want to know—it was dark. Now 
Mrs. Temple, on this very dark night—the blackness being 
almost impenetrable, as has been shown by the testimony of 
others, although you yourself, for some reason, don’t seem 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD O28 


inclined to admit it—in this dense and inky blackness you 
claim to have recognized the accused going by on a path at 
some distance from you. How do you explain that?” 

- “T s’pose you warn’t int’rested when I was speakin’ about 
them roller shades to the two side winders not reachin’ down 
to the bottom so’st it left a crack where the light could git 
through.” . 

“You mean to say enough light could pass through a little 
slit like that to enable you to recognize a person on a pitch- 
dark night twenty feet away?” 

Exes sit,” | 

“Do you expect me to believe that?” 

“No sir.” 

“Oh! You don’t expect me to believe it!” 

“T ain’t botherin’ one way or the other about what you 
believe. I’ve got enough to think of besides that!’ 

‘Well then, let’s get a little light on what you believe, Mrs. 
Temple! We have information that you attended a séance 
last night, a private séance given by a medium named Henri- 
etta E. Belden, and that you are here giving evidence in this 
court because disembodied spirits—in other words people 
who have passed away—requested you to do so. Do you 
deny that this is the fact?” 

“No sir, I don’t deny it.” 

“Then am I to understand that you are a believer in the 
supernatural—that spirits are about us, speaking to us 
through mediums, and that these dead people can be relied 
on to give assistance and advice in a case like this? Do you 
believe that, madam ?” 

“Well I ain’t certain sure of it, but I’m tendin’ that way, 


326 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


seein’ how much more the dead ones seem to know about 
this case than you folks that’s still walkin’ around.” 

A roar of laughter swept over the crowded room, broken 
by the court crier’s loud rapping for silence. It might have 
been observed that the Court itself bowed its head over as 
if making notes, so that its face was hidden for a moment, 

And so it went on, every effort to undermine Mrs. Tem- 
ple’s credibility as a witness serving the more firmly to es- 
tablish it. She could not be confused nor rushed nor intimi- 
dated, though all three of these methods were attempted. 
Over and above this it was very soon discovered that she 
had no idea of going further with her testimony than giving 
what related to the innocence of James Dreek. As to that, 
however, her evidence was clear, straightforward, and un- 
shakable. 

The confession signed by Dreek when he was out of his 
mind from the torture of sleeplessness and constant bullying 
had been riddled by the Defense, and cut no figure at all, so 
that when the case went to the Jury a verdict of “Not guilty” 
was returned within fifteen minutes and Jamie Dreek caught 
the next train home to his old mother, whose devastating 
anxiety about him had brought her to within a stone’s throw 
of the grave. 


You mustn’t get the idea that the Dreek trial came to an 
end in the brief time my way of telling about it would seem 
to indicate. I said just now, that when the case went to the 
Jury there was a verdict in fifteen minutes; but that when 
took quite some days. In fact there was a most peculiar 
delay directly following Mrs. Temple’s testimony. 

You’d naturally think that when the entire bottom had 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD gi | 


dropped out of the thing they’d have got the Jury out on it 
as quick as they could. But they didn’t, for the State was 
holding it up in every possible way—recalling witnesses with- 
out reason—wrangling over this and that, and playing for 
time whenever a chance came up. The Defense was brief 
enough, and the Judge occupied only ‘a few minutes in 
charging, but the prosecution managed to string it along for 
four days, and of course the wise ones began to make re- 
marks about the District Attorney having something up his 
sleeve. The singular part of it is that for once “‘the wise 
ones” were right. 

On the fifth morning following Mrs. Temple’s appearance 
on the witness stand, the not-guilty verdict was brought in, 
and that same afternoon Hugo Pentecost was arrested for 
the murder. 

It came to pass at headquarters. Pentecost had been sent 
for by Chief Inspector McCurran to give further informa- 
tion, and had been answering such questions as he could— 
which is to say, as he could with safety. There were others 
in the room—a couple of detectives (plain-clothes men), two 
or three policemen in uniform, and a stenographer (plain- 
clothes). 

“By the way,” the Inspector asked, carelessly, after a num- 
ber of commonplace questions had been answered, “did you 
ever happen to wear a pair of boots that were very much too 
large for you?” 

“Why yes,” (after just enough surprise to go with-so odd 
a question) ; “I suppose I have—at one time or another.” 

“Ah—you have! ... But your recollection doesn’t ex- 
tend, I presume, to your having worn such boots recently ?” 

“Pardon me,” Pentecost returned, “but is this flattering 


328 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


curiosity as to my wearing apparel merely personal, or are 
you still seeking information in the case of Haworth?” 

The Inspector’s eyes glittered into Pentecost’s for a second 
or two. When he spoke it was pointedly and with delib- 
eration. “I’m still seeking information in the case of Ha- 
worth.” ; 3 

“That being so,” Pentecost responded in a soft, pleasant 
voice, “you'll excuse me for going no further in the direction 
indicated.” 

The Inspector drew his mouth into a mechanical grin. 

“I’m inclined to think, Pentecost, that you'll find yourself 
going some distance further in that direction.” 

“It’s inspiring to meet a real optimist, Mr. McCurran— 
there are so few.” 

“Where were you between ten and eleven on the night 
Charles Haworth was shot to death?” 

Mr. Pentecost appeared to be quite unaware that a ques- 
tion had been asked. 

“We've got to hold you Pentecost.” The Inspector made 
a slight motion, and one of the patrolmen stepped forward 
and stood at Pentecost’s side. 

“Want anything from the hotel—toilet articles—clothing— 
that sort of thing?” 

“Many thanks—they’re outside in a grip.” 

“Ah!” the Inspector said, after an instant’s pause of sur- 
prise. “You looked for it, did you?” 

“Great God!—what would I look for with a couple of 
your teasers running circles around me since the day I first 
came in here!” 

“Noticed it, did you?” 

‘The Inspector pulled his lips back into what you might 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 329 


take for a grin. ‘““But don’t go trying to pass that across,” 
he added, ‘as the reason you brought your grip. There’s a 
better one than that.” 

“Sure there is,” said Pentecost. 

“You know damned well the game’s up and we've got it 
on you.” 

“T know damned well you think you have.” 

“Ah! And would you care to tell the reason I think so?” 

PARP OCETAIIN Ya 55s fogged sv etl eens Pittsburgh.” 

There was what you might call an instantaneous pause. 
The mention of the name of the smoke-draped city apparently 
struck fire somewhere inside of Mr. McCurran. 

“What do you know about Pittsburgh?” he demanded in 
a lowered voice with anger not entirely excluded from it. 

“Sorry to upset you,” murmured Pentecost. 

“What do you know about Pittsburgh?” the Inspector re- 
peated. 

“Much the same as you,” answered Pentecost. 

“Where were you between ten and eleven on the night that 
Charles Michael Haworth was shot?” 

There was no answer, and almost at once the Inspector 
went on, his voice more menacing: “If you’re not the guilty 
man, tell me your reason for trying to put over that fake 
alibi on us—yes, an’ a damned foolish fake at that, when we 
had you cold in Roxbury the same night? .. . So? Noth- 
ing to say about thai, eh?” 

There was a moment of silence, during which the Inspec- 
tor managed to subdue any evidences of the fury which the 
“name of the western Pennsylvania city had aroused. Soon 
he resumed in a voice cold and hard: “We find it to be a 
rule that a man who is unjustly charged with crime is more 


330 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


than anxious to answer questions and explain his true po- 
sition. I observe that you have no such desire.” 

“Accept my congratulations, Inspector, on having at last 
discovered the missing exception to your rule.” 

“Then you have no explanation to make of that manu- 
factured alibi?” 

“None—until the necessity arises.” 

“Am I-to understand that it hasn’t yet arisen?” 

“Such an understanding would be according to fact.” 

“In that case we may be able to assist it to do so.” And 
the Inspector rose and walked away to another part of the 
room, motioning, as he did so, to have Pentecost taken away. 

The patrolman got the usual safety grip on Pentecost’s 
twisted coat sleeves near the wrists, and took him out at a 
side door, one of the plain-clothes men slipping out after 
him, and shortly thereafter he was safely within the portals 
of the Charles Street jail. 


Inspector McCurran stood at a window revolving a few 
things in his mind—and their revolution failed to please 
him. This was not from any doubt of their case against 
Pentecost, for anyone could see they had the murder buckled 
to him in every conceivable way—including one that hadn’t 
been put down by the Inspector as conceivable up to this 
time. But back of the whole thing was some cursed mystery 
—every now and then they turned up evidence of it. Could 
there be, after all, anything in the spirit business? Seemed 
absurd, but, by God! they had some pretty good names to 
it!—Not in this country—but look at those big ducks in 
England who were pushing the game! 

And there was the man himselfi—Pentecost—something 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 331 


about him that made one feel a shiver of apprehension. You’d 
put him down as slippery in some peculiar, slimy sort of way, 
that would make any grip you could get on him not worth 
a tinker’s dam. 

The Inspector’s mind came round to Pentecost’s careless 
reference to the city of Pittsburgh. It had nearly lost him 
his self-control—an unusual happening with Matt McCur- 
ran. For this simple geographical allusion meant that the 
knowledge of certain spiritistic phenomena which had oc- 
curred in that town a few nights before, and which the 
authorities supposed to be successfully suppressed, was now 
—or soon would be—public property. If this man Pentecost 
had knowledge of these occurrences, others had as well, and 
without doubt the papers would get hold of it and there’d be 
the very devil to pay. 

And you may as well know at once that the papers of the 
following day did get hold of it, and there was the devil to 
pay—and he was paid, too! Throughout the length, breadth, 
and thickness of the country, and including as well our friend 
and near relation across the St. Lawrence, the press dis- 
patches did the Boston Police Department proud in one place, 
and then, without knowing it, jabbed a knife through it in 
another. 

In every paper the first thing striking the reader’s eye was 
a sensational write-up of the arrest of Hugo Pentecost as 
the murderer, in the strange and mysterious Haworth case, 
and the astonishing detective work accomplished by the Po- 
lice Department in tracing the (alleged) guilty man by a 
pair of old boots left in a cabin of a Metropolitan Line 
steamer, and in puncturing one of the most ingenious fake 
alibis on record. The dispatches went on to say that Mr. 


332 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Henry Harker and his son Alfred, of the firm of Harker & 
Pentecost, had both waived extradition and were on their 
way to Boston with detectives, and upon arrival would be 
held as accomplices. The stenographer of the firm, Miss 
Dugas, who was wanted as a witness, and who might also 
be implicated in the crime, was voluntarily accompanying the 
Harkers. 

The foregoing, written up fully and triumphantly, was 
agreeable reading for those connected with the Department; 
but in the same editions, and nearly always in an adjoining 
column, was an A. P. dispatch from Pittsburgh which simply 
tore the insides out of the first one. 

It was headed, in every case, with these disastrous lines— 
or something similar—and in type that came out and smashed 
a reader right between the eyes :— 


SPIRITS SPEAK AGAIN IN HAWORTH CASE 


ADVISE MICROSCOPE IN PENTECOST ALIBI 
ASTOUNDING CLUES GIVEN 
OPERATOR’S LICENSE 2026 


BOOTS LEFT ON “NORTH LAND” 


Then it got down to plain reading matter, and described 
a message that had come through at a séance held in Alle- 
gheny—now a section of Pittsburgh and popularly referred 
to as the North Side—five days before, and instantly tele- 
phoned to the Boston chief of police, but which, for reasons 
Stated below, had only now been given to the press. The 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 333 
(TEC Ti TREE TS ER a age AS ECO TE ESMOND Ce OO ON ch 


spirit who got “control” of the medium. conducting this séance 
declined to give his name—in fact allowed that he had too 
many, his life while on earth having been not precisely what 
it should have been. He merely saw a chance to get even with 
a cocky screw who'd once—before he (the spirit speaking) 
had crossed to the higher realms—put the low-down play 
on him good and plenty; and the only thing he asked was 
that some one present at the sitting would send word to the 
Boston police to go after a big pair of boots that was left in 
a cabin of the steamer North Land on arrival in New York 
the next morning after the murder} also he’d suggest that 
they put a microscope on a few other little items of that 
beautiful alibi. For instance, it wouldn’t do a damn bit of 
harm to dig up Operator’s License 2026. ‘Tell the bulls,” he 
gave out in conclusion, “to take it from me they’ll pull some- 
thing out of the fire if they go after it!” And with that he 
was gone. 

The A. P. dispatch on this Pittsburgh occurrence closed 
with a paragraph in brackets explaining the five days’ delay 
in getting the news. It stated that the spirit message had 
been telephoned to the Boston police even while the séance 
was still in progress with the medium under other controls. 
The Boston Department, for diplomatic reasons, had with- 
held the news of this message from the Pemberton Street 
reporters and had also asked the Pittsburgh police to hush 
the matter up until the clues (if there was anything to it) 
could be worked out and a clean-up of the guilty parties 
made before they got warning. Pittsburgh headquarters 
found that only eleven persons had been present at the 
séance, and got them all, together with the medium and her 
assistant or director, before they left the place. These peo- 


334 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


ple, appreciating the importance of keeping it quiet in order 
to bring the criminals to justice, agreed to say nothing of 
the affair, and for five days no leakage occurred. Then from 
somewhere (it could not be traced to any of those concerned 
in the séance) a full account of the whole proceeding had 
suddenly reached the Associated Press, and of course could 
no longer be withheld from the public. 

“The account of this amazing occurrence in Pittsburgh,” 
as one of the Boston papers put it in a bracketed “‘Ed.” note 
following the A. P. dispatch, ‘‘which is quite in keeping with 
former developments in the Haworth case, can now be pub- 
lished without disturbing the activities of the police, the 
‘clean-up’ referred to having been successfully accomplished, 
as may be.noted elsewhere in this issue.” 

This Allegheny episode might not have been so bad served 
up by itself, but coming immediately under or on parallels 
with the triumphant write-up of the Department’s detective 
work, showed that the whole thing was done on a tip from 
the spirit world. You mustn’t understand me as saying— 
or even intimating—that there wasn’t any good work done 
by the police detectives. The trouble was that when they 
got anywhere they were stood on their heads and everything 
they’d worked up dumped into the discard by one of those 
ghostly manifestations or whatever they might be. 

Anyway, it isn’t an account of marvelous detective work 
I’m trying to give you, but something which, as I look at 
it, is vastly more unusual. The papers will give you stuff 
about “sleuths’”—as they call ’em—every day in the week, 
including Sundays; and if you want to go into the field of 
fiction you'll find there’s one born there every minute. But 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 335 


so far as my experience goes, this was the first time people in 
the next world ever took a hand in the game. 


The public interest in the Pentecost trial came near to being 
the record for this class of diversion. You’d have thought 
the feeling against him would have been so bitter that they’d 
have had to fight off the lynchers. But it’s just as well to go 
easy on predicting how the public is going to behave. Some- 
thing about the man—it wasn’t beauty or youth or romance— 
more like hypnotism, perhaps—in conjunction with his in- 
genious methods of work so far as they had been made 
known, and also his silence under fire (My God! how the 
public adores a man who keeps his mouth shut!) got the 
people with him, notwithstanding the brutal murder that 
they could now so plainly see was his doing. Much of the 
sympathy may have resulted from the hopelessness of his 
case, for they certainly had it all over him. He hadn’t said 
a word since his arrest, excepting to state mildly—and even 
then, only when he was asked about it—that he wasn’t guilty. 
And he sat in the cage quiet and unassuming, never once 
dropping to the “cheerful act” nor the “bravado act” nor 
any act whatever, but only sitting there quietly and hearing 
witness after witness testify to things that were like so many 
nails in his coffin. 

He saw his marvelously laid-out defensive system crumble 
and melt away before his eyes; his carefully constructed 
alibi split into a thousand pieces. | 

They had the chauffeur (Operator’s License 2026) who 
took him—dripping with water—at about nine o’clock on 
the night of the murder, from a place near the Soldier’s 
Monument just north of the Bourne Highway Bridge over 


336 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


the Cape Cod Canal, and who left him, shortly before half- 
past ten, at the corner of Centre and Greenough Streets, 
Jamaica Plain. Even the fact of his having walked in a 
direction away from Torrington Road when he left the car 
told against him. Of course he did—that’s precisely what a 
man with criminal intent would do. , 

The Captain, Purser, and other officers of the North Land 

were called and testified against him—at least negatively— 
although they had, up to this time, been the most important 
-bulwarks of the alibi;—Captain Snow now recalling the 
fact that he hadn’t seen the face of the man on the forward 
deck whom he took to be Mr. Pentecost, after his ship passed 
out of the canal, but only his back; and the other officers 
realizing, when they came to think of it, that they hadn’t 
seen him on board after the steamer emerged into Buzzards 
Bay—that is, until he was disembarking at New York the 
following morning. 

The conductor of the midnight express to New York, and 
the head end trainman who’d had such difficulty in arous- 
ing him from apparent sleep in the morning and getting 
him off at the Grand Central, were put on the stand and told 
of his being on their train the night of the murder; men 
from the New York Central’s railroad pier next south of the 
North Land’s berth, testified to having seen the rowboat come 
up under the steamer’s stern as she docked in New York the 
morning after the shooting, and put a man aboard her by a 
rope ladder; a man and his wife from Buzzards Bay village, 
who'd been waiting on the highway bridge over the canal for 
the “draw” to close at the time the North Land passed 
through, on the night of the crime, testified to seeing a man in 
the semidarkness come up from the low flats at the west of 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 337 


the bridge approach, and climb into a car near the Soldier’s 
Monument, though they couldn’t swear, owing to the dark- 
ness, to its being the accused; these things, and scores of 
others not less important, put Pentecost in the position of hav- 
ing faked an alibi by boarding the steamer in Boston, going 
overboard from her during her passage through the canal, 
returning thence to Roxbury by hired automobile, proceeding 
to the rear of the Cripps mansion a few minutes before the 
shots were fired, and within half an hour after the murder, 
staggering, disguised as a drunken laborer, into the North 
Station, and there taking the 11:50 express for New York, 
finally getting aboard the steamer again from a rowboat the 
moment she tied up to her dock. 

Although no witness to his actually entering the house or 
to his being in it at the time the deed was done, could be 
found, there was surely sufficient evidence to convict him 
without it. At the same time the District Attorney would 
have given a great deal to be able to cover those points. 

Pentecost’s senior counsel, Harvey Brookfield, had little to 
offer in rebuttal, but he was a crack shot when the witnesses 
were turned over to him, and many of them were raked raw 
by the cross fire. His request that the head end trainman 
explain his remembering, for such a long time, what kind of 
boots a stranger on his train had worn, brought the reply: 
“Because every time I went through the car I had to shove 
em off the seat in front of him—they was muddy an’ I 
didn’t want him fouling up the seat.” 

“Very thoughtful of you, too! But you testified a few : 
minutes ago, that this man whose boots you noticed, was 
seated at the extreme forward end of the car. Didn’t you 
say that?” \ 


338 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Why, I said—I—I ——” 

“Certainly you did! I can have the stenographer read 
it to you if you’ve forgotten—Now I ask you to explain to 
the Court and the Jury how this man—if he was, as you 
_ stated that he was, sitting at the extreme forward end of 
the car, could put his feet on the seat in front of him? How 
could there be a seat in front of him if he was in the very 
first seat?) Now just tell us that—in your own language.” 

“Well, he—he was up there at that end—it might ’a’ been 
one seat more or less from the end—I didn’t notice. He 
was if 

“Ah—you didn’t notice!” broke in Brookfield, springing 
on him like a cat. “That explains it! You didn’t notice! You 
told us that he was at the extreme end, but you didn’t no- 
tice. Now you tell us about his boots—perhaps you didn’t 
notice in that case, either! A man’s life may depend on it 
—hbut you didn’t notice! You’ve rendered your testimony 
before this court ridiculous by making a man put his feet on a 
seat that wasn’t there!’ And so on. But while this sort 
of thing might tear a witness to pieces, it couldn’t, to any 
extent, weaken the prosecution’s case. 

In discussing the situation with Mr. Pentecost at the 
Charles Street jail after one of the worst days in court, Mr. 
Brookfield declared that there was nothing for it but to fall 
back on insanity as a plea. But Pentecost wouldn’t hear 
of it. 

“What’s the idea, then? I don’t need to tell you they’re 
piling it up on us pretty thick.” 

“They haven’t got me in the house yet. Keep jabbing 
on that till you draw blood.” 

“It won’t acquit you!” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 339 


“No matter—go to it.” 

And Brookfield went to it. 

It may surprise you to hear of an Attorney taking orders 
as to the conduct of a case from his client—especially when 
said client was so evidently a criminal of the most desperate 
character. But the explanation is simple in the extreme. 
Pentecost owned Brookfield through having bought and paid 
for him, and was virtually conducting the case himself. 


While the Pentecost trial, owing to its extraordinary de- 
velopments, had held the interest of the country at large and 
kept the eastern section of Massachusetts in something like 
a ferment of astonishment and curiosity, it was toward the 
latter part of it that things really began to happen. 

When the testimony was all in and Mr. Brookfield was 
about to go on with his summing up, a message was brought 
into the court room and handed to the District Attorney. 
After a glance at it he was instantly on his feet, asking to 
be allowed to bring in another witness whose presence in 
court had hitherto been impossible, and whose testimony was 
of the utmost importance in its bearing on the case. 

Brookfield, of course, objected, but was overruled, and an 
old woman, bent and rheumatic, was brought into the court 
room and assisted between the rows of spectators, past the 
jurors, and into the witness box. As she turned and faced 
the onlookers, and it was seen that Mrs. Temple had con- 
sented to take the stand for the prosecution, a composite 
sound of gasps, subdued exclamations, and quick whisper- 
ings issued from the audience. Many had seen her when 
she testified in the trial of James Dreek, and there was 
hardly one who hadn’t read in the newspapers that the 


340 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


old woman knew everything about the murder—had, in- 
deed, actually witnessed it—yet couldn’t be persuaded to 
say a word excepting to testify to as much as would clear 
the young butler of guilt. That was for the Defense in the 
case of James Dreek—now the Prosecution in the case of 
Pentecost, had her! f 

After the first surprise, all eyes shifted across to the pris- 
oner’s cage to see what effect this fearful menace—for 
that’s what it was—had on Hugo Pentecost. But so far as 
could be seen it hadn’t any. The man was sitting precisely 
as before, expressionless, waiting. ; 

While Mrs. Temple was being sworn and the formal 
questioning gone through, a Court Messenger entered, and 
threading his way between the tables, handed a written com- 
munication to Chief Inspector McCurran, who was seated at 
the Attorneys’ table, and who arose at once and left the 
court room, followed by the messenger. Few noticed this, 
for the attention of the spectators appeared to be divided 
between the old woman on the witness stand and the accused 
in the prisoners’ cage, whose death sentence—or what 
amounted to that—the former was surely about to pro- 
nounce. 

When the preliminaries were finished, District Attorney 
McVeigh in—for him—an incredibly soft voice and gentle 
manner, led the old woman to describe Mr. Pentecost’s be- 
havior while on his several visits to the Cripps mansion 
before the commission of the crime,—her suspicions regard- 
ing his intentions; the attempts she made to warn Mr. Ha- 
worth of the danger of dealing with such a man; and follow- 
ing that, her exclusion from the house—and thereafter her 
efforts to keep watch from the outside. From this she was 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 341 


tactfully brought to the events of that last evening,—the clos- 
ing of the blinds to the front window; the coming home of 
Mr. Haworth followed by Augustus Findlay; her attempts 
to see in at the side windows but the darkness within pre- 
venting; her unsuccessful efforts to enter the house at the 
rear, and then the sudden brilliant light in the room so that 
she was able to look in through the narrow slits below the 
roller shades; her seeing Mr. Haworth reading at the table 
and then filling and lighting his pipe; her hurrying to the 
other window and seeing a man at the back of the room 
whose face was covered (except for the eyes) with a cloth 
or bandage and whose clothing was wet and draggled, point- 
ing some dark object at Mr. Haworth from behind; her 
turning to run back to the window which was nearer to Mr. 
Haworth so that she could warn him, and as she did so 
seeing James Dreek going along the path with a ladder; 
her attempt to call out to Mr. Haworth; then the shots and 
his collapse to the floor, and she herself so overcome that 
she sank down beside the window; her recovering and trying 
again to get into the house at the rear, and finally succeeding 
in doing so. 

“How did you get in, Mrs. Temple?” the District Attor- 
ney asked. 

“Through the basement door.” 

“But wasn’t that door locked when you tried it before?” 

“Yes—but it warn’t locked this time.” 

“How long do you suppose this was after you heard the 
shots and saw Mr. Haworth sink to the floor?” 

“Tt must.a’ been some few minutes, fur I wasn’t able to 
git up very quick from where I’d sunk down.” 

“And when you got into the house what did you do?” 


342 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME | 


“T hurried to him as quick as I could.” 

“Do you mean Mr. Haworth?” 

There was a pause before she spoke. “Yes,” she said ina 
lower voice, with eyes seeking the floor. “You might ’a’ 
known that, I should think.” 

“IT did know it Mrs. Temple, but it’s important to have 
others know it too. Now tell me this—if you can: did it 
take you long to get to him—after you succeeded in entering 
the house I mean? The time is important. Very likely you 
were detained by the house being dark?” 

“No, I was used to it.” 

“Tt was very dark, was it?” | 

“There warn’t no light at all—somebody must ’a’ shut 
it off while I was hurryin’ back to get in. But I got to the 
stairs easy enough and up into the kitchen; an’ then groped 
along through the butler’s pantry an’ opened the door of the 
front room where—where he was.” 

“T see. And when you opened that door, Mrs. Temple, 
could you see anything in the room?” 

“Yes, I could.” 

“But I understood you to say that the house was entirely 
dark?” 

“Tt was. But when I pushed open the swingin’ door o’ that 
room there was a faint light shinin’ on Mr. Haworth’s face 
as he lay there on the floor, an’ I could see from its not 
stayin’ still that somebody must be holdin’ it. Then I could 
make out the figger of a man—the one that had the light in 
his hand—an’ he was bendin’ over lookin’ at the body, an’ 
he hadn’t taken no notice o’ my comin’ in. At first I didn’t 
know anything at all, but the minute I come to my senses 
I started to run an’ git a holt of him; but just then the light 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 343 


he had in his hand must ’a’ slipped some way so’st the beam 
of it struck right across his face, an’ he didn’t have no cloth © 
tied around it that time, so I could see who it was.” 

The quiet in. the room was intense. Every person there 
might have been a wax figure. 

“Mrs. Temple, who was that man?” 

“It was him there—the one you're tryin’.” 

“Can you give the Court his name?” 

“The one he went by was Pentecost.” 

“Was there light enough to see him distinctly ?” 

“There was plenty for me.” 

“Did you have any other means of identification?” 

“What sir?” | 

“Was there anything else you’d know him by—hair, 
clothes, shoes, hands, teeth—anything at all?’ 
* “Oh!—Well, you see the second after the light struck 
across his face it went out an’ I couldn’t see nothin’ at all. 
But I heered his voice plain enough if that’s any good to ye.” 

“Tt certainly is, Mrs. Temple. What was he saying?” 

“He was shoutin’ out not to touch anythin’—that every- 
thin’ had got to be left like it was in the name o’ the law, 
or somethin’ like that.” 

“And the voice you heard shouting those things—did you 
recognize it?” 

mes. sir.” 

“Whose voice was it?” 

“His—that man there.”’ (With a motion toward Pente- 
cost. ) 

“Do you mean the accused—in the prisoners’ cage?” 

“That’s who I mean.” 

“Had you heard his voice before?” 


344 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Yes—I had.” 

“When ?” 

“He’d spoke to me a number o’ times, an’ then I heered 
him a-talkin’ to Mr. Haworth quite frequent.” 

“What did you do then, Mrs. Temple?” 

“T run toward where I’d seen him an’ felt all around there 
—but he’d gone. An’ then—I—I don’t know. . . . I must 
’a’ sunk down there where—where he was.” 

“You mean Mr. Haworth?” | 

She nodded her head a little, as it slowly bowed down, 
hiding her face from view. 

Mr. McVeigh waited a moment so that the Jury might 
get the full effect of the old woman’s grief, and then in- 
dicated to Mr. Brookfield that he could take the witness. 

But it so happened that Mr. Brookfield had caught a signal 
from Pentecost, as previously arranged. 

“TI don’t care to examine, Your Honor,” he said. 


Shortly after this, Mr. Brookfield was seen to be address- 
ing the Court, but in so low a tone that few were able to hear 
him. For this reason a sensation was created when the 
prison guards took Pentecost from the cage and conducted 
him to the witness stand. 

After the preliminaries there was a pause—whether in- 
tentionally so or not, a most dramatic one. Brookfield on his 
feet ready to question, yet stopping silent before the accused. 
Pentecost standing motionless as marble in the witness box— 
the court officer at his side. Reporters at the press table, 
pencils poised, eyes fixed on Pentecost’s face, ready to catch 
and record his slightest change of expression. Every man 
on the Jury regarding him with strained attention. The 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 345 


Judge himself unusually interested. Stillness of death in the 
court room. 

Brookfield began in a low voice, speaking slowly and dis- 
tinctly. 

“Mr. Pentecost, you have heard the testimony given before 
this Court by Mrs. Amelia Temple?” ; 

mY eS. 

“Have you anything to say regarding it?” 

“Yes.” (A pause.) “It’s the truth.” 

“All of it?” 

“All that concerns me.” 

“What can you say as to the rest of the testimony sub- 
mitted before this Court?” 

“The same.” 

“By that do you mean that all of it is true as to fact?” 

“T do.” 

“Now as to this testimony that has been given here, and 
which you have stated is the truth—can you say that the 
inferences which would naturally be drawn from it are the 
correct ones?” | 

“T cannot.” 

“Why ?” 

“Because they make it appear that I have committed a 
murder.” 

“How does it happen, if they are statements of fact, that 
they are misleading as to such a conclusion ?” 

“They describe only a part of my movements and beha- 
vior, omitting what would lead to the correct conclusion.” 

“Do you claim that these omissions were purposely made?” 

Mr. Pentecost shook his head slightly. 


346 | THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“The witnesses,” he said in a low voice, “were doubtless 
unaware of them.” 3 

“Will you—if it pleases the Court—make a brief state- 
ment outlining these omitted facts.” 

Mr. Pentecost waited a moment, and then, as the Court 
made no objection thereto, began to speak in a subdued voice, 
faintly suggestive of hopelessness. 

“T have no witnesses,” he said, “except those who have 
testified against me. But there are circumstances bearing on 
my actions which none of these witnesses could have known; 
and while their consideration by this Court is most vital to 
me, I have only my unsupported word to offer, and feel that 
such consideration will almost certainly be denied me. So I 
will refer to these things as briefly as possible and with little 
hope. Let me speak first of my getting off the steamer at 
Buzzards Bay, as that seems the most misleading thing 
against me. It is true I did this, but not for the purpose 
of committing the crime with which I am charged. Such 
an inference, indeed, is quite the reverse of the correct one, 
for I came back to Boston that night hoping to save Mr. 
Haworth from some calamity that I feared was about to 
overtake him—and which, in fact, did so before I could pre- 
vent it. 

“My association with the young man during the time I 
was negotiating the purchase of one of his inventions, had 
awakened in me a most unusual interest. His quiet and 
almost childlike sincerity, his trustfulness and simplicity, ap- 
pealed to me in a way that I cannot describe. I am alone, 
with no family of—of any kind, and the experience of sud- 
denly being deeply interested in a person was something 
new to me. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 347 


“The last day of the negotiations—which was at the end 
of a fourteen day option he’d given us—everything was con- 
cluded and we paid over to Mr. Haworth a large sum of 
money. It was in bills—for he’d asked to have it that way. 
As we were making this payment it suddenly occurred to 
me that this trustful and helpless young fellow might get 
into trouble with it, for in these days there are crackerjacks 
looking for money who can smell it in a house, just passing 
by in the street. It was a lonely place where he lived and 
didn’t look good to me, so I cautioned him about it. But 
he smiled at me—one of his rare smiles that seemed to sink 
right into you—and said he knew a safe place for it; and 
anyway he’d have it there only till the next day. 

“The three of us—my partner, his son, and myself—took 
the steamer for New York that same afternoon, and I tried 
to get my anxiety about the young man off my mind. But 
instead of going off it mcreased, and by the time we were well 
out in the Bay it was like one of these premonitions you 
read about. I did everything to rid myself of this feeling— 
talked with the officers, ordered dinner, walked in the wind 
on the top deck—but it was no use, and by seven o'clock 
I realized that something had to be done. 

“The steamer was due at the canal in about an hour, and 
I remembered they had to slow down to half speed or less 
for the passage through. So I got young Harker to make 
inquiries in a sort of casual way, as if it was only from 
curiosity on his part, as to whether they’d stop at some place 
along the canal if a person wanted to get off. If they said 
no, I told him to throw out feelers to see if money would 
do it. But there was no use—the thing was impossible. 

“By this time I was in a—a most trying nervous con- 


348 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


dition. Suddenly I realized that, without even thinking about 
it, I’d made up my mind to jump off the steamer while she 
was in the canal and in some way get back to Roxbury. I 
did this as the boat was passing the village of Buzzards 
Bay. It was quite dark at the time, and I waited till the 
steamer had passed through the Bourne Highway Bridge, as 
I knew the passengers would be watching the great draw 
come down into place, and even if the lights along the canal 
hit me, no one would be looking. 

“After I got out of the swirl a few strokes brought me 
to shore. It was a sort of low flat along there, and I got 
across it and up on to the road embankment that is the north 
approach to the bridge. There wasn’t any garage in sight 
and in a sort of desperation I stopped a car coming up to- 
ward the bridge and asked where the nearest one was. The 
man inside asked me what was wrong, for I was soaking 
wet, and I told him it was a matter of life and death for 
me to get to Boston. He said he’d just come down from 
there and was only a quarter of a mile from his destination, 
so I could take the car he had (it was a hired one) if the 
chauffeur wanted to do it, and he’d go on foot the rest of 
the way. I suppose my dripping clothes made an impres- 
sion. I fixed the chauffeur all right with a couple of water- 
soaked ten-dollar bills, telling him I’d double it if he did 
the trip under eighty minutes. And I want to say that 
everything this man has testified to is the truth, for he 
couldn’t possibly have known who I was, how I got to Buz- © 
zards Bay, or where I was going in Boston. I’d be sorry 
indeed to get this innocent man into trouble. 

“My reason for leaving the car at some distance from the 
house on Torrington Road was not because I planned to 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 249 


‘commit a murder—as the Prosecution would have it trans- 
lated, but only that I wanted to approach the place with the 
utmost caution. Robbers or safe smashers would have their 
lookouts posted, and it was up to me to get at the inside 
operators before they had warning. 

“I crawled in at the gate and worked along behind shrub- 
bery. But I hadn’t got halfway to the house when | made. 
‘out the dim forms of two men moving about. This was a. 
tremendous relief, for I took them for the lookouts, and 
their being there showed I was in time: if the job was done. 
they'd be gone. So I slid in among the bushes and crawled 
around to the rear of the house. ! 

“The two doors at the back were locked, but I happened 
to think of the basement door, and on trying, found it was 
open. i 
“Luckily for me, my pocket flashlight still worked, and 
with it I was able to run through the dark basement and 
up the stairs, across the kitchen (which was also dark) and 
through the butler’s pantry. I bunted open the swing door 
and ran into the long room where we'd been sitting that 
same afternoon, but for a moment couldn’t see anything at 
all, there was such a strong light on. It dazzled me, and I 
‘suppose I must have stood with my electric torch pointing 
toward Mr.’ Haworth, as the last witness testified. I really 
have no idea which way it was pointing as I stood there 
blinded by the glare and trying to see. Ina moment I made 
out Mr. Haworth standing near the table in the middle of 
the room lighting his pipe, and instantly started toward 
him, calling out his name. But just as I did so two gunshots 
blazed out from somewhere quite near—though I couldn’t say 
exactly where—and the poor fellow went down. I got to 


350 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


him just as the lights went out, but as my pocket light was » 
still on I was able to see him, and I found he was dead. 

“While I was there on the floor by his side I heard a sound 
from the butler’s pantry, and instantly got to my feet. My 
light was still on, but I switched it off after some little dif- 
ficulty with it, and shouting out that nobody must touch 
anything—for I had the feeling there were people about and 
I knew the police would want everything left as it was—I 
hurried out of the house by the way I’d come in. As I got 
out into the air it began to dawn on me what trouble I’d be 
in if anyone saw me there and they couldn’t find the man 
who’d committed the crime. My only safety lay in getting 
out of Boston without being recognized, for if my presence 
there was known it would lead to their finding out that I’d 
jumped off the steamer, and that would put me in a terrible 
position—always supposing they couldn’t find the guilty 
man. 

“TI got around into Boston by way of Brookline, and in a 
poorly lighted side street I ran across a tough-looking bum 
wearing old and grimy clothing and carrying a considerable 
load of alcohol. I struck a bargain with him, and we ex- 
changed clothes in an unlighted alley among factories closed 
for the night. He understood in a bleary way, that I’d 
fallen in the water and wanted a dry outfit, which, of course, 
was the truth—so far as it went. 

“While I was hurriedly disguising myself in this way it 
suddenly came to me that my absence, when the passengers 
disembarked from the steamer North Land in New York, 
could hardly fail to be noticed. They’d have to file between 
the two ticket takers at the gangway, and pass down the 
gangplank under the watchful eyes of the ship’s officers— 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 251 


several of whom I’d come to know quite well. Harker and 
his son, leaving the steamer without me, would be more than 
likely to cause comment. 

“Tt was then that I happened to think of the night ex- 
presses, which hadn’t left Boston yet and were due in New 
York two hours or more before the arrival time of the 
steamer. Why couldn’t I go back on one of them and man- 
age, without being seen, to slip aboard the North Land from 
a rowboat the minute she docked? If I was seen doing this 
it would look bad, but no worse than if I wasn’t on the 
steamer at all. This way I had a chance—and as the testi- 
mony given here has shown, I took it. 

“T appreciate the forbearance of the Court in permitting 
this extended recital—made, I confess, in the face of a real- 
ization that it cannot save me. But perhaps some time, long 
after this crowning error in the rather extended series of 
police blunders has been committed, the fact that it was an 
error may come to light—and v 

No more could be heard, for Mr. McVeigh was on his 
feet shouting objections. “I object, Your Honor, and I ask 
that the reference made by the accused to the police of this 
city be stricken from the record and the Jury instructed to 
disregard it!” 

_ The Judge spoke in a voice that seemed especially low, 
coming after the District Attorney’s vociferous demands. 

“That may be stricken out,” he said. 

“Will the Court permit me to apologize?’ Pentecost asked 
almost in a whisper and with evident contrition. 

“What’s the sense of that?” snapped McVeigh. ‘It’s off 
the record—that’s all I want!” 

But a man face to.face with a death sentence is usually 


irae AMEN MC eS a 
352 _ THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 
MMOS es Ua bhadeiianid ve) 


permitted some latitude, and the Judge indicated by a slight 
motion of the head that he could do so. 

“Permit me then, Your Honor, to say that I regret having 
made use of the expressions I did, and certainly would not 
have done so had I been aware how sensitive the District 
Attorney is to the mere mention of the little spiritistic frolics 
with the Police Department that have recently taken place.” 

Pentecost had finally got in a reference to the mediumistic 
phenomena which had played so amazing a part in the case— 
something he had been playing for a chance to do since tak- 
ing the stand. This man’s statement before the court that was 
trying him was undoubtedly one of the most adroit pieces of 
pure and unadulterated chicane that he’d ever attempted— 
at any rate in that line. To fit an innocent and sympathetic 
tale like that to the multitude of incriminating facts estab- 
lished by the testimony against him;—to bring it out with 
just the pathetic hopelessness, exactly the sincerity and pre- 
cisely the manner and inflection which would make every 
point tell and thus inspire confidence and pity, was some- 
thing near to marvelous. 

He knew well enough that it would do him no good in 
court, but he knew, too, that it would do him enormous good 
where he wanted it. The statement made little short of a 
sensation, and not alone with those who heard it, but with 
the millions who read it in the newspapers. To most peo- 
ple, of course, it seemed to explain everything. What if 
Pentecost couldn’t prove it? Let the Prosecution disprove 
it—that was the thing! How noble of him to say that the 
State’s witnesses told the truth—and then show exactly how 
it was! Etcetera,—etcetera. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 353 


In court, as I’ve indicated, it was another matter. The 
only thing Mr: Brookfield (for the Defense) could do, was 
to review the contradictions in which he’d skillfully entan- 
gled many of the witnesses for the prosecution, and end with 
an eloquent plea for the credibility of the Pentecost state- 
ment which agreed with the testimony given before the court 
at every point, and to challenge anyone, in court or out to 
find a flaw in it. 

The District Attorney, of course, tore it all to pieces. He 
had declined to cross-examine the accused “after such a 
ridiculous and flimsy tale,” and took care of it in his sum- 
ming up. The fact is—but no one was aware of it at the 
time—he had a decided disinclination to give the accused any 
further chances with the Jury. 

“Here, gentlemen,” he said in his final argument, “we 
have an illustration—even in this extraordinary plan by a 
master mind in criminality—of the well-known fact that 
there’ll always be a weak spot somewhere—a little matter 
perhaps, but large enough to wreck the whole structure. 
This tale of the accused is based on the claim that the alibi 
was never planned beforehand, that it was developed on the 
impulse of the moment, an innocent person suddenly finding 
at eleven o’clock on the night of the murder that he might 
be brought under suspicion if it were known he left the 
steamer—and so he jumped on a train and managed to get 
back to it in time to come off with the passengers. An in- 
spiration of the moment! Remember that, gentlemen! And 
now let us see if it’s the truth that he never thought of it 
before. Let us consider the behavior of the accused on 
previous trips, which, you will observe, were always made 
by the same steamer, although there was another on that 


354 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME. 


line, and although there were three other lines of Boston 
boats—a choice of four steamers every day, not to speak 
of fifteen or twenty express trains, all bound for the same 
destination! But on this steamer North Land, which was 
chosen by the accused as the theatre in which to perform 
his alibi, we find from the testimony of eleven of its officers 
and crew, that he was sociable and talkative to the last de- 
gree, making acquaintance with everybody who might there- 
after be able to testify that he was on board the vessel on 
that fatal night. Contrast this with what four witnesses 
have sworn to regarding the usual behavior of this same 
individual—that he was naturally silent, taciturn, not easily 
making acquaintances, not a man given to sociability, re- 
served, keeping his affairs to himself, never discussing them 
with outsiders,—and there you have it, gentlemen. He was 
a different being when on the steamer North Land on those 
previous trips, when he was planting his alibi; making him- 
self and his alleged business of buying inventions known to 
everybody, jollying over cigars with the Captain and the 
Purser—and now telling us on the stand that he never 
thought of the alibi until after the murder!” 

From this the District Attorney went back and recapitu- 
lated every point made by the prosecution during the trial, 
showing that not one of them had been disproved and that 
there wasn’t even a tremor in the finger of Justice, now 
extended, and pointing to the accused, Hugo Pentecost, as 
the guilty man. 

As McVeigh was nearing the latter part of his closing 
argument, the Chief Inspector, followed by a messenger, re- 
turned to the court room and resumed his place at the 
attorneys’ table. At once he took a sheet of paper and began 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 355 


writing with evident haste. In a moment he bunched some 
papers he had brought with him and put them in a large 
envelope with the sheet on which he’d been writing. This 
packet he handed to the Court Messenger, who delivered it 
to the Judge. 

Before closing his argument the District Attorney took up 
the “impertinent reference” made by the accused before this 
court to a series of blunders which he attributed to the Police 
Department of Boston, and called the attention of the Jury, 
and of all who had heard this slanderous implication, to the 
fact that there never yet was a murder case where doubt 
existed as to the guilty party, which was without false clues, 
and mistaken arrests. 

From this he proceeded to a violent denunciation of Hugo 
Pentecost. “And if this insolent, swaggering fiend in hu- 
man form” (I got the wording from the newspaper reports) 
“who coolly, with careful planning and infinite calculation, 
takes the life of an innocent—a gentle—a defenseless man ;— 
this cowardly assassin who sends two bullets into his victim 
from behind, and for no other reason than to get a few 
thousand dollars away from him;—if he is now looking 
for another of those ‘spiritistic frolics’ to stand between him 
and retribution, he will look in vain; for even the so-called 
spirits—whatever they are—can’t help him now!. It’s in 
your hands, gentlemen, to see that the strong right arm of 
the Law is stretched forth and this red-handed assassin is 
brought to the punishment he so richly deserves.” 

At this point there came to pass one of those curious coin- 
cidences—a real and bona-fide one, for it couldn’t have been 
laid out beforehand even by a master-criminal mind, though 
such a mind may have figured there was an off chance on it. 


356 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


For a few moments during the latter part of the District 
Attorney’s summing-up, the faint but strident calls of an 
“extra” from far down Washington Street could have been 
heard in the court room—a babel of boyish voices coming 
through the open windows. This increased in volume, and 
as the newsboys came running into Scollay Square and up 
into Tremont and Court Streets, there was a sudden burst 
of high-pitched shouting, so that following right on Mr. Mc- 
Veigh’s climactic outburst, “Even the so-called spirits—what- 
ever they are—can’t help him now!” came the screams of the 
newsboys below: “E-x-t-r-e-e! Spirit message !”—“Spirit 
Message in the Haworth Case!’—“E-x-t-r-e-e !”—“Ha- 
worth’s Spirit Speaks!’’—‘‘Message from Haworth!’— 
“E-x-t-r-e-e !” and so on until the shouts grew fainter again 
as the boys ran down Sudbury and Hanover Streets toward 
the North Station, and West and South on Beacon and Tre- 
mont. 


When the attention of the spectators was again directed 
to the court proceedings, they realized that everything had 
stopped. A consultation at the Bench was in progress. All 
the attorneys concerned and the Chief Inspector were there, 
evidently having been called up by the Judge. 

A peculiar stillness had settled over the place. Charged 
with electricity it seemed, the tension increasing every mo- 
ment. Some foolish ones wondered if the newsboys, shout- 
ing about another spirit message, could have affected the 
Court. Once—and not such a time ago at that—the calling 
of such a piece of news on the streets would have excited 
only derision. None of that now! Even the pooh-poohers 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 357 


had stopped their pooh-poohing. Too many astounding 
things ! 

A sudden straining to see and hear as the Chief Inspector 
and the attorneys went back to their places, the Inspector 
leaving the court room immediately afterward. 

The Judge sat motionless a few moments, apparently in 
thought. After that he examined again some of the papers 
that had been submitted. Finally he rose and turned to the 
Jury and the twelve men composing it came to their feet at 
the same instant and stood facing him. Then the Judge, in 
a voice so subdued that it could scarcely be heard in the 
further parts of the room, thanked them for the time and 
labor they had contributed to the cause of justice, and pro- 
ceeded to remind them that the world we live in is a place of 
considerable uncertainty, and that in Courts of Law the 
unexpected is a frequent—and sometimes a welcome—vis- 
itor. 

Everyone could hear him now, which resulted not so much 
from the raising of his voice a trifle as from the stillness 
prevailing. “In the case before us, gentlemen,’ he went 
on, “the arrival of this visitor, the unexpected, must be 
regarded as most opportune, for it is the means of removing 
all doubt as to the guilt, or freedom from guilt, of the ac- 
cused. Mr. Foreman and Gentlemen: Certain facts have 
just now been called to the attention of myself and counsel, 
which indicate beyond any question or doubt that this de- 
fendant is innocent of the crime with which he is charged; 
and I therefore instruct you to bring in a verdict of Not 
Guilty.” | 

A moment later the Clerk of the Court was saying: 
“Hugo Pentecost, look upon the Jury; Jurors, look upon the 


358 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


defendant—Mr. Foreman and Gentlemen: in the case of the 
,Commonwealth against Hugo Pentecost have you agreed 
upon a verdict?” 

“We have,” the Foreman answered. 

‘What say you, Mr. Foreman: is the defendant, Hugo 
Pentecost, guilty or not guilty?” : 

“Not guilty,’ answered the Foreman. And after the 
swearing of the Jury in the usual form, Hugo Pentecost was 
informed that he was hereby discharged and could go “with- 
out day’ unless held on some other process. 


On the evening before these final proceedings, and at a 
time approaching the hour of midnight, a private “circle” in 
West Philadelphia was about to adjourn. Mr. Ernest Ev- 
erett Blatchford, well known among the spiritists of that re- 
gion as a talented and highly successful materializationist 
‘and trance medium, had brought about during the evening 
a number of visits from the other side, and in all but two 
the spirit had become visible to human eyes—in a shadowy 
way. 

As the director or assistant (I’m not sure what they call 
those people) turned to switch on the lights, there came 
strange muffled cries issuing from the darkness in the further 
part of the room, and a cold musty current of air breathed 
across the circle of “sitters.” At the same instant a whitish 
cloud appeared, faintly wavering in the darknenss. It rap- 
idly grew in size and seemed to be trying to shape itself into 
something resembling the human form. Vague suggestions 
of a man’s face began to appear in the misty cloudiness, the 
features gradually forming themselves, like the fade-in of 
a picture; and when, as it came to be more and more dis- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 359 


tinct, somebody whispered the name of Charles Haworth, 
there were several involuntary gasps of astonishment and a 
breathless “Oh!” or two could be heard. The papers had 
used his picture so often (taken for that first write-up in a 
Boston “Magazine Section’) that there was no difficulty 
about the recognition after the whispered name had started 
it. (No one ever traced that important whisper to its 
source. ) 

In a few moments it was seen that the lips of the appa- 
rition were moving—yet no sound came. The cloudlike 
human form with a face resembling Haworth’s, was trying 
to speak. 

A voice from somewhere in the circle—a man’s voice— 
was heard asking, ‘“Isn’t this Mr. Haworth?” and the head 
resembling Haworth’s nodded slowly in affirmation. Almost 
at once some sort of a sound was heard—confused and 
broken, as though pushed through a barrier that gave way, 
and after that the spirit began to speak in a low voice 
and with what seemed like a sort of eager breathlessness. 
“Machine !—Machine!—Machine!” repeated over and over 
many times more than that, was what it said, and between 
two of them a loud whisper came from somewhere in or 
near the circle, “It’s Haworth’s voice!” and an answering 
whisper, forceful and penetrating, ““Yes—oh yes!—His own 
voice!’ So that everybody knew, though they’d never seen 
the man Haworth nor heard him speak, that it was he now 
appearing before them. 

For some time the apparition or spirit—if that’s what it 
was—seemed unable to utter anything more than this repe- 
tition of the word “Machine,” and the director and some 


360 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


others, although they asked encouraging questions, proved 
unable to get anything further. 

But again some sort of obstruction was seemingly over- 
come, for after many unsuccessful attempts, the voice sud- 
denly broke out with: “In the wall!—In the wall!—In the 
wall!—Why don’t they look? It’s there! The Machine! 


Find it !—-Find it!—Make the court wait !—That man—that | 


man—nothing—nothing—nothing to do with it—nothing— 
nothing! Nobody can hear me in Boston—lI can just reach 
this one—but not for long! Tell them the wall—inside the 
wall—that same room—further end—the machine—papers 
on the pendulum!—the pendulum !—Papers !—Oh I’m 
going !—” (The voice becoming faint and far away) “—I 
can’t hold out—and I want to speak to someone else— 
oh, I do—I do ” and nothing more could be heard. 

The voice was growing weaker and the features were dis- 
solving back into mistiness even while he spoke; and in a 
moment there was only the whitish floating haze which 
seemed rapidly drawing itself to a point, at which it wavered 
for a moment and then flickered out in the blackness. 

No reporters were present at this seance nor were the Phil- 
adelphia police keeping an eye on mediumistic activities ; and 
as it was already after two in the morning, no one who’d 
been there took it upon himself to communicate with any- 


body as to what had come through. It was consequently 


nearly eleven o’clock the following morning before news of | 
it reached the Boston newspaper offices; and an effort made 
later to find out who sent the news met with no success. 
Whoever it was completely ignored the police. Not a word 
of this astounding communication from the alleged spirit 
of Charles Haworth was wired or telephoned to them. Their 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 361 


first intimation that anything of interest had taken place in 
West Philadelphia came from the newspaper ‘‘extras” on 
the streets. 


The Department—as it had in another and similar instance 
—got particulars without giving it away that this was the 
first they’d heard of it. And so important did the matter 
seem that the Inspector was called out of the court room. 
And so important did it seem to the Inspector that he pro- 
ceeded with the utmost speed and a bunch of detectives to 
the Cripps mansion. Reporters were kept outside the line 
that had been established. 

Within twenty minutes after the Inspector’s arrival with 
his gang, the rear end of the wall of the room on the left 
was what you might call a near ruin, and a most extraor- 
dinary mechanical arrangement that had been constructed 
within it was exposed to view. 

The first, and it might be said the most striking, thing 
they had come upon as they were ripping the lath and plaster 
away and prying off the heavy paneling, was a 44 Colt 
revolver bolted to the studding (the upright timbers within 
the wall) just behind one of the panels of the wainscot, and 
down within eighteen inches of the floor. It was bolted so 
securely as to be absolutely immovable, and was aimed 
straight out into the room. The husky plain-clothes man who 
smashed away the panel in front of it was seen to spring 
suddenly to one side. 

“Careful now!” the Inspector shouted, as he came run- 
ning. “Keep away from that!’ he yelled to the other men 
who were coming over to see. And they were ordered well 
to one side while the two working there reached over and 


362 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


ripped away the panels above and on each side of the one 
that had concealed the gun. 

It took but a few minutes to expose the whole thing: 
a simple but ingenious device built in there for firing two 
revolvers at nearly the same instant—discharging them about 
twelve minutes from the time the mechanism was set in 
motion. The second gun, a matter of six inches below the 
other, was behind the same panel, but hadn’t been noticed at 
first as it was so close to the floor—just clearing the panel 
frame at the bottom. 

They found that this panel—the one concealing the guns 
—had been made to slide up and down, the guides holding 
it on the inside so there was no evidence of them in sight; 
when pushed up, the muzzles of the revolvers were exposed ; 
when dropped down into place, they were hidden. And so 
carefully had this sliding panel been handled that no scratch 
or abrasion could be found on its surface, nor did it differ 
in any way, so far as appearances went, from the other 
panels in the wainscoting; neither did it display the slightest 
evidence of being movable—which, indeed, it was not, after 
the discharge of the revolvers; for on dropping down into 
place it automatically locked itself by the swinging across 
the top of it, of a block of wood on a pivot—all within the 
wall, of course. To get it open again it was necessary to 
push this block away from the énside. 

Both guns were immovably aimed to throw bullets directly 
across the middle of the room and out through the upper 
part of the window at the front; and as they were set so 
low down, the course of the bullets would be upward. A 
man of a certain height standing at a certain spot near the 
center of the room would get the bullet from the upper 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 363 


revolver through the head and from the lower one through 
the heart—if he could stand there long enough after the shot 
from the first one—hardly more, probably, than half a sec- 
ond. 

The mechanism which—twelve minutes from its starting— 
fired the revolvers, and at the same time released the mov- 
able panel and allowed it to slide down into place and au- 
tomatically to lock itself there, was an escapement device 
with a pendulum swinging to seconds. About halfway of the 
fifteenth revolution of the escape-wheel (a very large one 
carrying fifty teeth or jump-cogs) the powerful springs that 
connected with the two rods—one to the trigger of each re- 
volver—were released, which discharged the guns nearly, 
but not quite, simultaneously, and on the next jump of the 
escape-wheel a lever pulled back the catch that held the 
sliding panel up, allowing it to drop down and close the 
opening. It locked itself there automatically as I’ve ex- 
plained. 

There were many minor arrangements to safeguard and 
insure the perfect operation of the device, such as the weight- 
ing (on the inside) of the sliding panel; the carrying of the 
rope that unwound from a drum on the main shaft, up 
through a pulley at the top, so the heavy weight attached to 
it would have room to descend in that space—for of course it 
couldn’t go below the floor; the setting of the two revolvers 
at the place where the wall of the breakfast room joined this 
rear wall of the room on the left, so that, as they were too 
long for the normal wall thickness, their butts might project 
back into the transverse wall. 

The whole device had been built in through a large aper- 
ture from the basement below, and on completion of the 


364 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


job this opening was closed up with the very same old grimy 
boarding, and even fastened in place with the same ancient 
and rusted nails driven into their original holes, that had 
been taken out of them. Even the rust on the nail heads 
where the hammer would strike them was undisturbed ; safe- 
guarded probably by the use of a cushion of leather or blot- 
ting paper. | 

It was evident that the machine couldn’t have been set 
going on its final performance, from the basement, for by 
no possibility could the opening down there have been closed 
with all the care required, within the twelve minutes be- 
tween the starting and the automatic discharge of the guns. 
Undoubtedly the sliding panel was opened from below and 
held open (that is, up) by its catch, and the block above 
adjusted to swing in when it next slid down; and after that, 
at whatever time it was desired to start the pendulum on its 
last gruesome swing, it would only be necessary to reach 
in through the open panel in the room on the left, and give 
it a shove. That was all. There would be twelve minutes 
left for reading awhile and then lighting a pipe. 

Of course all these small details weren’t figured out by the 
police until afterward. The Inspector was there to learn what 
there was, if anything, to the latest alleged spirit message, 
and they found it Of such vital import, too, that it required 
instant action. No time to be wasted on conjectures as to 
the method of starting. There it was The Machine! 
And secured to its great pendulum which, you might say, 
ticked Charles Haworth to his death, was the envelope of 
papers. 

Quick investigation followed; the Inspector raced back to 
town; the newly discovered evidence was brought to the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD i 265 


Judge’s attention; his conference with the attorneys and the 
Inspector followed, and after that came the Court’s instruc- 
tions to the Jury and the Jury’s verdict in accordance there- 
with. 


The large envelope which they found lashed securely to 
the great pendulum contained three instruments or docu- 
ments—the Last Will and Testament of Charles Michael 
Haworth; a Statement made by Charles Michael Haworth; 
and an Insurance Policy on the life of Charles Michael 
Haworth. The Statement had been sworn to before a No- 
tary Public (of course without his learning anything of its 
purport) three days before Haworth’s death, and was to the 
effect that he intended within a week to take his own life 
and to do it by means of a mechanical contrivance which 
he, and he alone, had devised and built for that purpose; 
that no one but himself was in any way connected with, or 
responsible for, this determination on his part, or involved 
in its carrying out, for he had built the device with the ut- 
most secrecy, locking himself into a room in the basement 
of the house while at work on it, and allowing no one to 
come near. His housekeeper, Mrs. Amelia Temple, had, 
he stated, been aware of his labor in this room night and 
day for nearly two weeks, though she could have had no 
knowledge of the character of the work he was doing; and 
the butler, James Dreek, could not have been aware that 
anything of the kind existed, as he arrived after the com- 
pletion of the machine and its sealing up inside the wall. 

He then went on to speak of the property he was leaving, 
mentioning the eighteen-thousand-dollar Insurance Policy 
and the thirty-five thousand dollars which was to be paid 


366 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


him by the firm of Harker & Pentecost of New York, for 
one of his inventions which the said firm had purchased— 
“a combination gas and compressed-air engine.” Following 
that was only a brief paragraph to the effect that a little 
something might be realized from the sale of a few pieces 
of machinery that were still in his possession—but nothing 
worth writing down. 

The statement ended with that, but he had written a few 
lines on the margin three days after it had been signed and 
sworn to. -““This is to say,’ he wrote in a hand without sign 
of tremor (and it must have been only a few hours before 
he reached in and set swinging that pendulum of death), 
“that the Messrs. Harker & Pentecost have now paid what 
was due me from them ($35,000) which amount (less the 
sum of $500 that I have taken from it for a certain present 
requirement), as it is in bills, and as Mr. Pentecost has cau- 
tioned me that there is danger of robbery, I have had James 
Dreek conceal in the stone foundation at the northeast cor- 
ner of the barn in the rear of this house.” And to this 
marginal memorandum he signed his initials. 

The will was simple and brief. After payment of debts, 
only two bequests. “To my faithful and beloved friend 
Amelia Temple” was left the sum of five thousand dollars— 
and the statement followed that all the money in the world 
could not wipe out the debt he owed her. The rest of his 
property went to Edith Carrington Findlay. 


By this time you are likely to be aware that Mr. Hugo 
Pentecost of the firm of Harker & Pentecost, Promoters, had 
something to do with the unusual happenings in what might 
be a trifle incorrectly spoken of as the Haworth Homicide 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 367 


Case. I’m inclined to doubt, though, whether you quite 
appreciate the extent of his work. To say that he was 
behind every move in the whole affair comes near to putting 
it mildly. 

When, on his first visit to the mansion, he went down into 
the basement with Charles Haworth and got an idea of what 
the desperate and half-crazed young man proposed to do, 
and the instrument with which he intended to accomplish 
it, even he, a person never known to be disturbed by danger, 
horror, or dilemma of any description, was near to the ex- 
perience of amazement. This, though, didn’t prevent him 
from jumping in at once and making an earnest effort to 
dissuade the young inventor from carrying out his gruesome 
enterprise. The realization that Haworth couldn’t be per- 
suaded out of it—indeed, that he was in a mad frenzy to 
carry it through if only for the insurance money—struck 
Pentecost at about the same time that there flashed into his 
mind a most extraordinary “operation” that could be carried 
on in connection with it. A born adventurer and intrepid 
explorer in the shady mazes of criminality, keen for danger 
in unusual forms, to be baffled by unusual and skillfully 
contrived defenses, with, of course, the chances of a good 
haul to make it financially interesting, he was hardly the man 
to throw down an unbelievably attractive proposition when he 
had it in his hand. 

Mr. Harker added his own protests the first time he was 
at the house on Torrington Road. He watched his oppor- 
tunity and got Haworth aside—for he didn’t want his part- 
ner to know what he was up to—and did his best to induce 
the young fellow to abandon the grisly idea that seemed to 
have taken possession of him. 


€ 


368 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


In the ordinary run of things, the only course left to the. 
firm was to turn a person having such unlawful designs on 
himself, over to the police. But this happened not to be in 
the ordinary run of things. It was distinctly extraordinary. 
Furthermore the firm alluded to wasn’t in the business of 
turning unlawfully behaving citizens over to the police. 
Quite and much otherwise. And the reason for this was 
because it was composed of two conscienceless crime ex- 
perts, one of them—the controlling member—a consum- 
mate operator in strategic chicanery if there ever was one on 
the earth. 


Neither of the methods that Haworth had in mind for 
profiting by the tragic act to which he was apparently driven 
by some desperate need, had met the approval of Mr. Pen- 
tecost. One was based on a life-insurance policy which the 
young inventor had recently taken out, having, by inquiry, 
found a company which was supposed to pay in such cases; 
the other depended on the sale of a motion picture which 
should be taken of the actual occurrence—showing not only 
the operation of the machine, but, as well, depicting its 
frightful consequence. But this master crook had declared 
himself willing to give both these things a fair try-out and 
with every advantage he was able to command, if the young 
man would consent, in return, to have his own (Pentecost’s ) 
extraordinary scheme go into operation. He would play 
Haworth’s ideas to the limit, even though it involved the 
taking of the picture himself—for he wasn’t going to let any 
of his men in for a job like that. The ghastly situation 
might send any one of them up in the air. 

Mr. Pentecost’s scheme, which had struck him like a blow 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 369 


while Haworth was explaining the working of the Machine, 
concerned and depended upon the alleged spirits of the 
dead, as known through and represented by persons who 
called themselves mediums; and it took him into a field he’d 
long desired to negotiate—one where the hunting, he hap- 
pened to know, was exceedingly good. Furthermore, his as- 
tounding method of handling the mediumistic output 
involved, was beyond anything dreamed of before. 

You are doubtless acquainted with the fact that informa- 
tion concerning the lives and the families of more or less 
prominent people who have made the crossing to the other 
side—or who, for various undesirable reasons, are expected 
soon to make it—is dealt in by a number of bureaus or 
clearing houses for that class of goods. High prices are 
paid by their customers (the mediums) for information of 
value, and if the bureaus haven’t anything in stock as to the 
life and characteristics of a person called for, they have 
facilities for getting it without delay. 

But this thing of Pentecost’s, although of a decidedly 
Spiritistic nature, was by no means a matter of information 
about dead people; on the contrary, it involved the sale to 
mediums of information which dead people could get across 
—through them—about the living, and under the most un- 
usual circumstances. That’s where the great mercantile 
possibilities came in, the operation of his scheme giving these 
spirit communications such astonishing advertising value to 
mediums who passed them through, that they’d pay almost 
any price to get them—if they had it. In addition to this 
price down (on delivery as you might say) he'd take—in 
each case and for a limited time—a slice of the increased 
business which was sure to follow. 


370 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


It would have been entirely possible to sell out his “spirit 
information” in a lump to one of the bureaus, but by han- 
dling it personally he could take advantage of the immense 
increase in advertising value as the Haworth case attracted 
more and more attention. 

To give these “messages” or “communications” an enor- 
mously high market value was the object of the entire op- 
eration. What such value means to professional mediums 
is realized by very few outside of spiritist circles. I’m re- 
ferring, of course, to those who practise the methods alluded 
to. It has been said that there are others in the spirit game 
who go perfectly straight and have a great time believing 
every word they say; but if such is the case I oe t know 
where they live. 

A regular—or professional—medium will sometimes make 
a small fortune on one skillful (and lucky) performance. 
To attract wealthy clients, preferably those who have been 
hypnotized by the loss of those who are dear to them— 
that’s the top of the game. And it’s the unusual—the ex- 
traordinary—manifestations that do it. Taking this into con- 
sideration, you will understand why the Pentecost messages, 
before he got through with them, had run up into the twenty 
and thirty thousands each. From asking three thousand in 
Montreal, and six of Mrs. Belden in Boston, the price went 
up by jumps of five thousand. This, together with the rake- 
off on increased business for two years from every medium 
in the game, put Harker & Pentecost nicely to the good— 
even though quite vast expenses, including the Haworth 
money, had to come out of it. 

Using his gang of picked sharps (his correspondents you 
might call them in the big cities) Pentecost could cull out the 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 371 


mediums who had the money, and make his cash sales with- 
out difficulty; this same gang also made prompt payment of 
percentages as near a certainty as such things ever come. 
Extraordinary experiences in misfortune would overtake 
anyone in any town or in any part of the country who tried 
to hold back on him. And they knew it. It was made strik- 
ingly evident to them by the “agents” who, under instruc- 
tions, engineered the sales and delivered the “‘spirit’’ messages 
at the precise time required. 

As to the vital matter of secrecy, no leakage could possibly 
occur, for the very simple reason that there was nothing 
to leak. Not a medium in the lot had the faintest idea where 
“the goods” came from nor what was the manner of their 
origination. Even had one of them known, it would hardly 
have been cause for alarm; this owing to the fact that the 
basic principle in their guild is the keeping of things dark. 

Now you have the key to the whole affair. With it—if 
you haven’t been picking the locks as we went along—you 
gentlemen can let yourselves in on what the man was play- 
ing for at any stage of the game; and how it came to pass 
that everybody concerned—public, police, witnesses for the 
prosecution, reporters, editors, spiritists, jurors, lawyers, 
even the District Attorney himself, and the Chief Inspector 
with his choice assortment of plain-clothes men, were danc- 
ing for Hugo Pentecost according as he pulled the strings. 
What was it if not that? Anyway, you have the facts—call 
it what you like. And don’t imagine, when I speak of this 
man’s scheme, that this consummate operator had a set and 
rigid plan to be followed whether or no. On the contrary, 
his arrangements were elastic to an extreme degree. If 
you'll notice how it went, he played each part of the thing 


372 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


as far as it would safely go, and then pulled it back to the 

line with a voice from the tomb, as you might say. Where 
one of several things might happen he had substitute plays 
for each, every one carried back to the safety point in what- 
ever direction it went. Had old Mrs. Temple persisted 
in her refusal to testify, notwithstanding the appealing spirit 
messages he’d carefully planted, he was ready to work in 
another witness to the murder, to Dreek’s being outside the 
house at the time, and to his own presence in the room aiming 
the terrible black object (which was, of course, the movie 
camera) at Haworth as the poor fellow stood lighting his 
pipe. If the head end trainman hadn’t remembered getting 
him off the day coach at the Grand Central Terminal in New 
York, and had failed to recognize the boots he had shoved 
off the seat so many times, there was a waiter at the lunch 
counter of the restaurant on the lower level who would 
answer all purposes, owing to his (Pentecost’s) unusual be- 
havior while getting a cup of coffee at that place. 

The extreme importance of wrecking the alibi at the time 
required, caused him to deal it two simultaneous smashes, 
either one of which would have done the trick—barring acci- 
dent. The boots might not have been kept in the Lost Prop- 
erty Department of the Eastern Steamship Lines, Inc. On 
the bare chance of their having been thrown away, Opera- 
tor’s License 2026 would bring the chauffeur into the case; 
up to then he could have had no idea that his fare to 
Boston on that fateful night was Hugo Pentecost. If 
Augustus Findlay had failed to take his revolver with him 
as he plunged madly away from the house, the fight in Col- 
lamore Street almost directly under Mr. Rathbun’s window 
would have gone on just the same; the only readjustment 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 373 


being that Pentecost’s man would have picked up the gun 
wherever Findlay dropped it—whether at the mansion or on 
the road—and brought it along, making it appear in the 
struggle that he got it away from the terrified boob; so there 
it would be, finger marks and all, ready to shove up in the 
water conductor. And if you imagine that it was any kind 
of an accident when Mr. Pentecost tipped up his pocket 
flashlight and gave the old woman a glimpse of his face as 
she came toward him in the pitch-dark room just after the 
Machine had done its deadly work; or that the roller shades 
being not quite down was a matter of chance; or a hundred 
and one things like that, call it off and take a new start. 

I saw it troubled both you gentlemen when that carefully 
constructed alibi began to crumble. The first thing that 
occurred to you must have been an inquiry as to why all the 
trouble and ingenuity expended on planting it, if an old pair 
of boots or an operator’s license was going to throw it down. 
But your second thought was undoubtedly quite different, for 
unless I’m mistaken, you soon realized that not only was 
that fake alibi one of the most effective advertising nuts for 
the spirits to crack, but vastly more important than that, it 
was the veritable backbone that was to hold up the entire 
Pentecost operation. Without it they’d have picked him up 
that same night or early the next morning, and the mediums 
——with the possible exception of Mr. Ernest Everett Blatch- 
ford of West Philadelphia—wouldn’t have had any play 
at all. 

If you’re financially minded, it might seem unbelievable 
that two such seasoned sharps as Harker and Pentecost 
would let a thirty-five-thousand bundle of bills go out of their 
hands with the chance against them that the Machine might 


374 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


not function or that Haworth wouldn’t stand up to the grisly 
game he’d set himself to play. It wouldn’t be at all surprising 
if the young fellow, when he got right up against it, were 
to go mad; indeed, both partners had a notion he was half 
there already. But do you notice that this money never did 
go out of their hands—that, as the crucial time approached, 
Pentecost had Dreek outside the house where he could in- 
stantly seize on it at a signal from inside—and that he himself 
was inside? 

But neither this nor the taking of the motion picture ac- 
counted so much for Pentecost’s presence in the room at the 
crucial moment as the absolute necessity of his being seen 
there by a competent witness in order to make the case 
against him have the look of being incontestable. His trial 
for murder was the final play, and he’d begun laying lines 
for it at his very first interview with the Inspector, adroitly 
behaving, on that occasion, in a manner calculated to awaken 
the suspicion that he’d been connected in some way with the 
crime, even though the alibi—at that time unshaken and to 
all appearances unshakable—blocked any idea of his having 
committed it himself. 

I won’t go any further with small details as to Pentecost’s 
methods of operation. But I’ll ask you to take it from me 
that from the time he staggered—to all appearances a semi- 
intoxicated coal heaver or something like that—into telephone 
booth 19 at the South Station in Boston, just before 
boarding the night train for New York, and calling up Pem- 
berton Square (that is to say, headquarters) told the official 
in charge that a man named Pentecost who was supposed 
to have embarked for New York that afternoon on the 
Steamer North Land had been seen near the Haworth house 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 375 


just before the murder that evening, and suggested that it 
might be a good idea to have the New York police verify this 
on arrival of the steamer there (thus, as you'll see, making 
his alibi official in a certain sense by bringing in the New 
York detectives as witnesses to it), to the moment of his 
having himself put on the witness stand and reciting his 
fake statement before the court, his hand never for one in- 
stant left the throttle. 

Notwithstanding all this, he found time, during that stress- 
ful period, without personally appearing in the matter or 
indeed ever meeting her, to have everything possible attended 
to for Edith Findlay. All things tending to her comfort 
and well-being were arranged for: a nurse brought from 
the hospital to take care of her and manage everything about 
the house; Augustus Findlay permanently eliminated by 
having such a fright thrown into him that the entire continent 
of North America was thenceforth relieved of his weight 
upon it, with South America standing a good chance of equal 
immunity; and finally (it was some weeks before the Pen- 
tecost trial came on) her departure, with little Mildred and 
two nurses, to one of the most highly recommended places in 
the Austrian Alps. 


At once after his acquittal Mr. Pentecost did his best—as 
he’d promised Haworth he would—with the $18,000 life in- 
surance and the more than gruesome “movie’’—which he had 
himself taken. The former he succeeded in collecting after a 
campaign of sharp practice devoted to it; the latter—as he’d 
figured from the start—stood no chance with censors and 
the inter-state people. He got a few thousand for it from 
the “bootleggers” of padlocked films who smuggle them 


376 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


across state lines and put them in the “private show’ pro- 
grams. These things, with the $51,000, and odd which was 
Haworth’s share on his percentage of profits on the game, 
more than doubled the total of deposits to the credit of Edith 
Findlay in the bank which had been designated to take care 
of her property. While no mention of this percentage was 
made in the contract between Haworth and the firm, it was 
one of those things that Pentecost would have paid though 
it reduced him to penury. 

When you say—as you’re more or less liable to if I give 
you the chance—thaf this man was a surprising combination 
of characteristics, you will have spoken the truth. Not quite 
so surprising, though, when you come to reflect that every 
man is that—more or less—if he has any characteristics 
worth considering. 

And while we’re speaking of it, it’s just as well for you 
to know that the man was taking all this care of Edith Find- 
lay’s interests—as well as of Edith Findlay herself, solely 
and entirely because of Haworth. Something about the fel- 
low had appealed to him in a peculiar way. 

As the matter stood there was no possibility of Edith’s 
ever knowing that the money coming to her—aside from the 
insurance—was other than the amounts realized from the 
sale of one of Haworth’s mechanical inventions. This was 
shown by Haworth’s contract with the firm and by the re- 
ceipt he gave for the cash payment, as well as implied in his 
statement and will. The tragic truth of the matter, which 
might have affected her disastrously both mentally and phys- 
ically, as well as undoubtedly preventing her from touching 
a penny of the inheritance, was safely locked up with the 
firm of Harker & Pentecost. 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 377 


‘ For several months all went well. According to the doc- 
tors there, Edith’s condition was improving. Then a cable 
that was rather disquieting. A slight turn for the worse. 
Probably only temporary. Must expect ups and downs. 

This talk about temporary ups and downs was nothing 
to Pentecost. He found, after some drastic searching, a 
high-up specialist who would go over. He felt that an 
American patient ought to have an American doctor. What- 
ever you say, races are different and need different treat- 
ment, 

He met the doctor at the steamer on his return and they 
had a talk in the latter’s cabin while the baggage was coming 
off. The gist of the physician’s report was that while Mrs. 
Findlay was in a much better condition as far as the disease 
itself was concerned, and ought to go right on improving, 
her present mental activity was holding her back. This had 
not been the case heretofore, as the shock of the affair had, 
in a certain sense, stunned her. For several months she 
seemed hazy about it all, but-recently things were becoming 
clearer to her, which was unfortunate. Everything was 
being done to divert her mind, but it was an obstinate case— 
she didn’t want it diverted. 

“What does she want?” Pentecost inquired. 

“Well—it amounts to this: She’s made up her mind to 
die and so far there’s no shaking her determination.” 

“T wish I had her here,” said Pentecost. 

Two weeks after that a cable reached him signed by Edith 
Findlay herself, begging him to come over as soon as he pos- 
sibly could—utmost importance that she see him before the 
end, which was near. 

He was on the next steamer going out. 


378 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


Mr. Pentecost was sitting by the side of her bed. The 
nurse had told her his name before he came in, but for quite 
a time she couldn’t remember who he was or why he was 
there. Perceiving this, the nurse came in from the adjoining 
room and explained that it was the gentleman who'd been 
so kind in attending to everything for her, and that he’d come 
all the way from New York because she’d asked to see him. 

“Oh, you—you came from America!” Her voice was 
faint and far away. 

He said -“‘Yes” softly. 

The nurse had retired again to the next room. 

“Did ” Edith glanced about searching for some one 
—then her eyes came back to him. “Did he come with you?” 

“No.” 

“TIsn’t that strange!” She spoke Hardiy above a whisper. 
“Oh, it is so strange! But he’s coming! He’s coming just 
as soon as he sets up the machine and regulates it—that was 
in the contract you know!” 

“Yes Mrs. Findlay, but it'll take quite a while yet.” 

“Oh, will it? It seems so long! I can’t understand yi 
they keep him so long!” 

“You mustn’t worry yourself about it.” 

“Oh no—no, I mustn’t! But it does seem as if they’d be 
through by this time!’ She lay quiet for a little—her eyes 
closed. Then suddenly turning her head on the pillow she 
looked at him again. 

“How long did it take to get here?” she asked. 

“Ten days, but I didn’t get a very fast steamer.” 

“Yes, I see. Maybe he took a slow one. But I’m ex- 
pecting him very soon now—very soon.” 

She went on for a little, asking questions about the deten- 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 379 


tion of the one she expected—the length of time it would 
take to regulate the machine he’d sold—whether a fast 
steamer would be leaving when it was finished, and other 
fancies like that, to all of which Pentecost replied briefly and 
in a low voice. He was waiting his chance. 

She’d been lying back against the pillows, but rather sud- 
denly in the midst of her questioning she stopped and sat up 
erect in the bed, staring at him. “Oh ” she finally 
breathed. “I thought you—I didn’t know——— Are you 
Mr. Pentecost ?”’ | 

“Yes, Mrs. Findlay.” 

“They—they said so, but I didn’t seem to ne 
glanced about, thinking; then her eyes were fixed on him 
again. “You were so good to come,” she whispered pain- 
fully. 

He saw that the merciless memories were coming back to 
her. 

“You—you can be such a help to me—if you will—such a 
help! It’s something that ” She broke off, and raising 
her head a little from the pillow, glanced at the door into 
the nurse’s room. ‘Would you shut it, please?” 

Pentecost carefully closed the door—then returned to his 
chair by her side. 

“I want to ask you to do something for me, Mr. Pente- 
cost—because—you see—they think I’m going to get well— 
but it isn’t so—no,” (shaking her head a little on the pillow) 
“it isn’t so.” 

Pentecost sat looking at her with a peculiar glint in his 
prominent eyes, but said nothing. 

“T tell you,” she went on after a momentary pause, “be- 
cause you—you’re the only one I can trust.” 


380 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Where did you get that idea?” 

“He told me. It was in a letter he left. He said you 
were his friend, the only friend he had except the old 
woman who took care of him, and that I must trust you in 
everything.” : 

“In view of this, Mrs. Findlay, tell me in what way I can 
be of service?” 

“Mr. Pentecost, what will become of my little Mildred?” 

“It strikes me” (in a suddenly sharp, penetrating voice) 
“you’re the one to answer that.” 

She looked at him in amazement. 

“I?” she finally asked in a faint voice. 

“Who else?’ he inquired. “Aren’t you the one who’s pro- 
posing to abandon her?” 

“Abandon !” (With a slight gasp.) “Why —— 
How You don’t mean i 

“Well what would you call it?” | 

“No—no—no! Oh, wait! Let me tell you!” (With all 
her earnestness she could hardly do more than whisper.) 
“Oh, I couldn’t stay—I don’t want to!” She shook her head 
a little on the pillow. ‘“He’s gone—gone! The thought of 
it is killing me. I want to go. I want to be where he is!” 

“How do you know where he is?” Pentecost’s voice cut 
in like a knife. 

She stared at him in astonishment. 

“My religion tells me that, Mr. Pentecost,”’ she whispered, 
reverently. | 

“And does this religion of yours omit to tell you where 
your daughtef is?” 

“Oh yes—yes !—that’s why 1 wanted to see you. That’s 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 381 


9? 


why I——” She broke off and glanced distressfully about 
the room. 

“You seem to have made up your mind to leave her,” Pen- 
tecost observed. 

Edith was silent. 

“Aren’t the living of some consequence,’ he went on, “or 
is it only the dead we have to consider ?”’ 

“No no—that’s wrong! I hadn’t forgotten her! Oh, how 
can you think such a thing, when it was about her that I 
wanted to see you—just about her—nothing else!” 

“What can J do?’ 

“T hope—I hope you'll consent to take her—to take care 
of her! I don’t know who else to ask—and he told me to 
trust in you—about everything. If I can only know she'll be 
with you I shall die happy!” 

Pentecost suddenly turned and blazed out upon her—some- 
thing as he used to do in the Chicago days when he leaped, 
tigerlike, on a victim in the witness stand. 

“What is it to me whether you die happy or not! What- 
ever I can do in this affair I’m doing on account of someone 
else—not for you Mrs. Findlay! You cut no figure with 
me—why in God’s name should you? I’ve never laid eyes 
on you before—and now I come to see you it looks to me like 
a cursed low-down play you’re making, that while I’m doing 
my best to carry out everything he wanted, you’re lying here 
doing your best to block his game! That’s just what you’re 
doing, Mrs. Findlay,—pitching the fulfillment of his most 
vital wish into the discard!” 

“Why I Why you She couldn’t go on. 

“Look, then—look at this! The one thing in the world he 
wanted money for—the reason he was mad and crazy and 


39 


382 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


demented to sell his machine and get it, was so he could send 
you here and do everything on earth to save your life! He 
lived for that—nothing else—it was the one thought that 
possessed him! He made a will to make it certain that—if 
anything happened to him—the money would be used for 
that and nothing else. And after all this—which you know 
as well as I do, I come over here and find you deliberately 
throwing away all he worked for and hoped for and—for 
all I know—prayed for. Of course if you’re bound to go 
against it I'll do what I can about the child—though God 
knows the little one needs you. It all rests with you, Mrs. 
Findlay. The head medical sharp that came over, tells me 
it isn’t the disease that’s killing you—it’s yourself. He says 
you've made up your mind to die—you’re determined to do 
it—and that play’s certainly going to take the trick if you sit 
in the game long enough. It’s up to you to quit that if you 
want to do the right thing by the dead and by the living.” 

Pentecost rose and took her thin little hand in his. “T’Il 
say good-by, Mrs. Findlay,” he said in an altered tone. 
“They'll keep me informed” (motioning toward the nurse’s 
room) “of which way the cards fall, and I’ll act accordingly.” 

As he reached the door he thought he heard her call to 
him faintly, and went back to see if it was so. She was look- 
ing up at him as he stood by the bed, and tried to speak— 
but only her lips moved. He bent nearer to catch what she 
said. 

“Tl try,” she whispered. 

He took her hand again. 

“There’s some sense to that Mrs. Findlay,” he said; and 
after looking down into her eyes a moment he laid her hand 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 383 


back on the coverlet where he’d found it, and quietly left 
the room. 

It was still early enough to get the afternoon train out— 
which he did. 


A few days short of a month after Mr. Pentecost’s brief 
visit to the Austrian Alps, he walked, one wintry afternoon, 
into the office of the firm, having come direct from a trans- 
Atlantic steamer—just docked. Wasting no more time on 
salutations than he usually did—which was precisely none at 
all, he quickly got Harker into the small inner office—some- 
times referred to by the staff as the dissecting room—and 
after pushing him into a chair and drawing one for himself 
close to it, began talking to him in tones that were subdued 
to the limit. 

- “We’re moving the office to London,” he said, “—and in- 
side of twenty-one days. I’ve got something I want to put 
on over there. I'll need most of the office force—especially 
Finch Dugas—and I’m taking eleven of the boys.” (By 
which he meant his “trusties.”’) 

“What's the matter,” Harker inquired; “can’t you play 
it with the natives?’ 

“You're dippy! Hasn’t the Yard got their numbers?” 

“Sure—the Yard’s got everything. And take it from me 
if you’re going up against that layout you’ve got to watch 
your step and then some!” 

“Now, Roxy—you’ve hit on the one thing that’s doing the 
pull on me. As I was over on that side I thought I’d come 
home by way of London and take a look around. While I 
was doing it a little something crossed my mind that looked 
to me as if it might interest em. That being so, we play it.” 


284 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


“Don’t say we. Maybe you'll play it, I don’t know; but 
if this London scheme you’re pulling off is one of your 
favorite flirtations with the undertaker, I declare myself out 
of it here and now. I can get myself nicely hung in the 
U. S. A. without going abroad for it—and I’d just as soon 
patronize home industries.” 

“Not a killing to it I give you my word,” Pentecost assured 
him. ‘We play a corpse for two or three moves, but it’s 
handed to us—no chance of a line across—they’ll have the 
guy that did it. Now every one of us comes in from differ- 
ent places—I go round and get across from Stockholm—you 
and Dugas make it from Rio—plenty of time as you don’t 
play in till near the finish. Kennedy makes it from Hol- 
land—” and he went on laying out the “game” with Harker 
to the uttermost detail. 

Three days later Pentecost (but not as Pentecost) em- 
barked on a Swedish-American Line steamer. Harker was 
at the dock getting final instructions (of course he was going 
in on it as Pentecost knew he would), and there was a vast 
lot of things to do in a limited time. 


The two stood talking on the pier, hidden by piled-up. 


crates and boxes, yet only a short distance from the gang- 
plank so that Pentecost could go on board at the last moment. 
When they had about finished up matters connected with the 
London “operation,” Harker happened to think of something. 

“Oh—by the way,” he said; “how was that lady you went 
over to see?” ; 

“Not so well,” Pentecost muttered in a way that suggested 
aversion to talking about it. 

But Harker, not affected by this, cheerfully pursued the 
subject. 


/ 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD 385 


“Going to die?” he asked. 

“Had it all fixed to.” (Speaking very shortly.) 

“Who? Who do you mean had it fixed?” 

“She did.” 

“Oh—lI see—she wanted to.” 

“Yes, and her wanting was doing it. The doctors were 
hunting some way to shake her up, and left it to me. So I 
went in and gave her a jolt or two that might change her 
mind.” 

“What did you say?” 

“Anything I could grab off the line.” 

“Then she’s going to get well, is she” 
_ “How the hell do I know?” 

Pentecost had put an end to the subject with that, but — 
after a silence of some little time, he went on,—and Harker 
took notice of a most unusual softness in his voice. 

“D’you know what I’d do, Hark, if I had it to do again— 
that is, if I knew what it was that was eating him?” 

Harker—surprised at his tone—kept his eyes on him for 
the answer. 

“T’d ’a’ framed that Findlay soak for a twenty-year jack 
in a nice cool cell, and then staked those two out in the moun- 
tains—or wherever it was she had to go.” 

“T thought you did know.” 

“Not till too late. It was in a letter he left for me with 
Jamie Dreek.” 

The two stood looking at one another. 

“Well,” said Harker after a brief silence; feytint s the 
good of post mortems ?” 

Pentecost nodded. ‘“‘What’s the good?” he arenes 


386 THE ASTOUNDING CRIME 


A moment later he was hurrying on board, and with that 
came the end of this “Pentecost Episode.” 


I take the lberty of adding a brief state- 


io ment, 
THiMcG 


Dudley sat smoking heavily and abstractedly after Mr. 
Barnes had finished a few business details with me, and after 
shaking hands with both of us, had gone. I was to take a 
night express for New York, as my time was up. We'd just 
got it in on the ten-day limit. | 

I saw that Duds had something on his mind—puffing away 
at his pipe and staring down at the floor—so, as there was 
plenty of time before my train I let him alone. He looked 
up at me after a wink, in the manner of rousing himself. 

“D’you know who that was that just went out?” he asked. 

“What ?-—Oh !—Why Barnes of course!” 

“No.” He shook his head. “Not Barnes of course, but 
some one else of course. I’ve been keeping a few tabs on 
the man that’s been telling us all this stuff, and there’s four 
things—with a possibility of five—that no one on earth could 
know but Hugo Pentecost.” 

“Good Lord! ... Why... then you think ——” 

“That’s it—I think—But I’m going to make sure. He’s 
in town yet. I'll drop you a line tomorrow.” 


ON TORRINGTON ROAD | 387 


The “line” reached me a couple of days later. 

“It was Pentecost,’ was the statement it began with. And 
went on: “That is, I mean it was the man that was—he’s 
something else now. He’s in business abroad, and taking a 
steamer from here. His agent (or ‘trusty’ if you like) is 
going to get the manuscript from you when you write it out. 
Take my advice and put in all this at the end of the thing. 
It needs some sort of a finish, and this might do. If he 
doesn’t like it he can cut it out when he gets the proof—and 
you can bet he’ll get it. 

“Couldn’t make him tell the sort of an enterprise he’s on 
over there—says maybe he will sometime. 

“Tt seems the girl—Edith Findlay—is making a slow re- 
covery. I asked him how the book would affect her if she 
got hold of it, and he said it wouldn’t do her any harm by 
then. ‘And by God!’ he went on, ‘it’s just as well for her 
to know—now she’s able to stand it—that such a man as 
Charles Michael Haworth went happily and eagerly to his 
death, so that she might live. You'd think she might run 
through her life on that, and ask for nothing more. But 
probably not.’ ” 


THE END 


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